Henry Blake Fuller: A Critical Biography [Reprint 2016 ed.] 9781512816457

Table of contents :
Acknowledgments
Contents
Henry Blake Fuller
The Red Carpet
Carl Carlsen's Progress
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Henry Blake Fuller

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

HENRY BLAKE FULLER A Critical Biography

By

CONSTANCE M. GRIFFIN

Philadelphia UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA PRESS LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD: OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

1939

Copyright 1939

University of Pennsylvania Press Manufactured

in the United

States of

America

Acknowledgments T h e preparation of this book has been punctuated by many delays, both natural and technical. It is with great pleasure that I now offer my acknowledgments to those who have assisted me. My greatest debt is to the nieces of Henry Blake Fuller, the Misses Louise, Josephine, and Helen Ranney, who not only permitted me unlimited use of Fuller's papers, but extended to me their very generous hospitality and their continual support. T o them also I am indebted for permission to publish for the first time " T h e R e d Carpet" and "Carl Carlsen's Progress." Without their generous cooperation this work would have been impossible. T o Fuller's friends of Chicago and elsewhere who opened to me their homes and their memories I again tender my thanks. I am the more grateful to them because of the rebuffs of those who viewed me as an interloper, and I hope that I have given something of their friend that will be new to them. T o Dr. Arthur Hobson Quinn, who introduced me to Fuller, to whose encouragement alone I owe the final completion of my work, my debt is too great to be appreciated by anyone who has not experienced the stimulus of his personality. T o Dean Paul Musser I extend my thanks for his jcareful reading of my manuscript. My thanks are due to Mrs. A. B. McGinnis, Jr., of Philadelphia, who aided me materially in the beginning of my work, and to Mr. McGinnis, who unraveled the final astonishing legal complication of its completion. My thanks are ilikewise due to Mrs. Benjamin Turner of Buffalo for her cooperation in a difficult period. Finally, my gratitude is extended to my husband and my children, but for whom I should have finished much sooner, but not so happily. V

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I wish to acknowledge the permission granted by the following to print excerpts from material to which they hold the copyright: Harper and Brothers: With the Procession Houghton Mifflin Company: The Last Refuge D. Appleton-Century Company: The Chevalier of Pensieri-Vani The Chatelaine of La Trinite. C. M. G.

Contents page

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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T H E RED CARPET

77

CARL CARLSEN S PROGRESS

87

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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INDEX

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Chapter I Henry Blake Fuller, one of the most finished writers that Chicago has produced, was a striking figure in his diverse literary attainments. He was a craftsman honored by his fellow craftsmen everywhere, and he possessed a select if not an extensive coterie of enthusiasts such as few authors have enjoyed. His contributions to American letters embrace many fields, and in each of these fields he made his mark. Fuller was endowed with an energy and determination that made his accomplishment of a self-imposed task a mere matter of time—and such was the concentration he brought to his writing that some of his best novels were finished in the course of a few weeks. This drive and force, coupled with his avidity for mental culture, and his ability to express himself in the manner of whatever school of writing interested him at the moment, goes far to explain the variety of his work— and makes him, to the \vould-be cataloguer, a great task. It would have delighted his gently ironical soul to know that battles will wage for years to come as to the proper classification of his volumes, now so difficult to obtain, for Fuller, in his work as well as in his life, was primarily self-sufficient. H e was stimulated, perhaps, but never dominated by any "movement" or "school of thought"; nor can he be classified according to any of the terms we use for placing an author in a neat little docket. H e is represented in many literary categories, b u t he remains, first and foremost, Henry Fuller. M u c h of his life went into his books, and many of his literary prejudices take on a new significance when viewed I

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in the light of his background and early environment. T w o goals were ever before him—literary recognition and leave to wander at ease through the Italy he loved before ever he saw it. His first ambitions and hopes were his last—never dimmed in achievement nor abandoned in the discouragement and near oblivion of some periods of his life. Among Fuller's most outstanding characteristics were his passion for exact information and his ceaseless striving for perfection in all of his endeavors. Though a Chicagoan by birth, and a resident of that city for most of the years of his life, Fuller inherited from both sides of his family the rigid principles and molds of thought of generations of New England forbears. His mother dated her ancestry from one Thomas de Sanford, a Norman follower of William the Conqueror, from whom are descended the Connecticut Sanfords, who came to Boston about 1631 and settled later in Connecticut where Fuller's mother, Mary Josephine Sanford (1836-1907), was born. Fuller himself was the last male in direct descent from the Dr. Samuel Fuller (1580-1633) who came to America on the Mayflower in 1620. Dr. Fuller's son Samuel (1625-1695) was minister of Middleborough Church. Then comes Isaac, a physician, and his son, Samuel (1718— c. 1766). Lemuel (1767-1842), the fifth in line, was a captain of militia. The Chicago history of the family begins with Henry Fuller (1805-1879), the son of Captain Lemuel, a cousin of Margaret Fuller, and the grandfather of Henry Blake Fuller. T h e Fullers had always been landowners, respected in their communities for their probity and industry. Henry Fuller added enterprise to industry, built himself a respectable fortune and became quite a public figure. He left his birthplace, Northampton, Massachusetts, in 1803, and established himself in Wyoming, New York, as a tanner. Shortly he removed to Albion, New York, engaging in a profitable drygoods business. In 1840, his family was first established in Chicago, but did not remain there. At St. Joseph, Michigan, the scene of his next move, he became county judge. In 1849 he finally

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settled in Chicago, and at once became active in civic affairs. He constructed portions of the Illinois Central and the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific railways, and was one of the incorporators of the South and West Chicago City Railway, and, for some years, its superintendent. He also placed the first forty miles of water pipes introduced into the city. In the course of these varied ventures, J u d g e Fuller amassed a considerable fortune. George Wood Fuller ( 1 8 3 1 - 1 8 8 5 ) , J u d g e Fuller's only son, was active also in Chicago civic life. He was for a time secretary of the Southside Railway Company, then cashier of the Home National Bank from its organization in 1872 until his death in 1885, at which time he was also its vice-president. From these substantial forbears, and from this tradition of solid citizenship, Henry Blake Fuller, an only son and first child, was born in Chicago, January 9, 1857, in a house on the present site of the L a Salle Street Station. He was destined always to rebel at this environment, at the shackles of business, at the grim realities of the self-centered world which oppressed his spirit so heavily. From earliest childhood Fuller was a solitary figure. He was quiet and delicate, preferring the company of his books to the boisterous games of boyhood. His school days provide an illuminating picture of his intense and unboylike preoccupation with study, his unending striving for perfection, and the grim tenacity with which he held to his self-imposed tasks in the face of the difficulties looming in the way of his education. Among the manuscripts and papers which Fuller left are a variety of old exercise books, report cards, journals, and intermittent diaries which reconstruct his activities to a great extent, but which leave unexplained some rather interesting points. Fuller first attended the Mosely School, from which he graduated in J u n e 1872, with First Medal and a yearly average of g8~/n. In the entrance examination for the Chicago High School, held J u n e 20 of that year, a test which lasted seven hours, Fuller passed with an average of 91 in a tie for first

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place. After one week at the Chicago High School the next fall, Fuller was transferred to the Branch South Division High School. T h e following year he entered the Allison Classical Academy, a boarding school, at Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, a resort where the Fullers were accustomed to spend their summers. This year at the Allison was a memorable one for Fuller, and for some reason made a lasting impression upon him. In 1875 he wrote long and detailed accounts of school activities in journals labeled "A.C.A. I and I I . " Many years later he made these journals the basis of a short story, "Edmund Dalrymple," still unpublished, which contains marked autobiographic elements and was apparently intended to be the first of a series of such sketches. It requires no great effort to identify the Flora van Norstrand of Allisonian days with Octavia Norcross of this manuscript. Likewise the Frank Donaldson to whom young Fuller devoted a whole section of his journal appears as Haviland Fitch. The Allendean Classical Institute is certainly the Allison Classical Academy, and Edmund Dalrymple himself is the Fuller of those days with the greater dignity and judgment gained by years and retrospection. On September 21, 1874, Fuller notes in his diary: " 'The Business of Life' formally inaugurated. Ovington's—Crockery —122 State Street." No reason is given for this interruption of his school work, and it is the more peculiar in view of the fact that Fuller had devoted the previous summer to an intensive study of German, and had certainly made an enviable record in all the schools which he had attended. That he was ill and unhappy a great part of the year is certain. In September 1875, Fuller returned to the South Division High School, where his records hovered around 99.7 and 99.8. On June 23, 1876, Commencement Day, he makes the sorrowful entry "My school days probably over for aye." It is interesting to note, from the irregular but sometimes quite detailed entries in Fuller's incomplete diaries, how thoroughly and how early his mind was molded to the rigor-

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ous standards he set for himself—how thoroughly he was conscious of his aims and of his limitations, and how determined he was to achieve the one and conquer the other. His detestation of disorder and an almost constitutional need for privacy manifested themselves very early. When he was fifteen, Fuller was exulting in the joys of a room of his own, and planning the "order of reading and study for vacation." During his year at the Allison he resented greatly the invasion of his room, which he shared with a roommate, by his more frivolous fellows, intent on the mild dissipation of euchre and oyster suppers. H e was the "spectre at the banquet at these nocturnal meetings," for he "played cards rather indifferently" and "could never summon up enough resolution to swallow a raw oyster." H e was immeasurably relieved when these soirees broke up—and comments with disgust: . . . in the morning I dressed and ate crackers among unwashed stew-pans, scattered packs of cards and old cigar stumps. Going to breakfast I closed the door on a roomful of disordered furniture, paper bags, oyster cans and a multitude of interesting commodities. . . . Of my whole school life at the Allison these convival nocturnes were my greatest trial. Quiet and privacy were invaded, study was entirely prevented, bedtime and sleep thoughtlessly disregarded. Fuller comments in another diary on his aversion to the society of young people and on his own diffidence in speech. This, he analyzed, was brought about by his extreme fastidiousness of expression, making him see errors which others would never notice, and was further complicated by an embarrassing rapidity of utterance. His characteristic conclusion speaks for itself: " W i t h the utmost pains I am slowly improving, and in time may learn to speak my mother-tongue with facility and intelligibility." At the start of this journal ("Legacy to Posterity") Fuller gives as his criterion the approval of Wilkie Collins, whose "characters of a well-regulated mind keep journals." He continues:

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Only when I succeed in this may I complacently regard myself as a master of the English tongue. Not only shall I possess to perfection the power of character sketching, but shall couch my expression in words most elegant. Then shall I be able to execute most vivid word-paintings, to nicely proportionate my matter, to arrange with order and conciseness my brilliant ideas, and to round off my sentences in graceful Ciceronian periods. A l t h o u g h his phraseology is flowery, this boy of fourteen had set for his standard those qualities which so strongly marked his later writings: form, balance, precision, and finish, coupled with the rigorous discrimination that is the ultimate test of the true artist. W h e n Fuller was in his senior year at South Division H i g h School, he made his first appearance in print. O n October 12, 1875, Fuller writes, as did Byron, " Ί woke one m o r n i n g and found myself famous.' Last Sunday as well as the Sunday before, I had an article in the Tribune on the 'Marriage Question.' " T h e s e articles were clipped from the papers of October third and tenth and carefully preserved. Otherwise it would be impossible to identify Fuller's contributions to the popular column, a species of "Letters to the Editor." T h e letters, for such they are, are signed " A u n t M a r t h a " and " Q u e e n Bess," and, as the latter is a reply to a Harry B. Free, it would have seemed reasonable, save for the preservation of these clippings, to identify Henry B. Fuller with Harry B. Free, on the basis of the H.B.F. initials which Fuller often used later. 1 Despite Fuller's passionate interest and pleasure in writing, in music, in drawing, and in architecture, a study which he painstakingly pursued unassisted, he returned to Ovington's in October 1876 and there remained, with slight intermissions for vacation, until on N o v e m b e r 7, 1877, he laconically registers his new employment—"Messenger at the Bank of Illinois." 1 It is possible that Fuller wrote both the Harry B. Free letters and the replies; but it is hardly probable that he would have kept that fact a secret from himself in his own diary.

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Fuller's diaries are at this time chiefly a record of callers and amusements. In June 1878 he was transferred to the Home National Bank, of which his father was an officer. The most interesting features of Fuller's notes this year are the minutely planned itineraries for his travels in the Europe of his dreams, and his passionate longing to bring these dreams to fulfillment. In 1879 Fuller makes exactly seven entries in his diaries, of which only two are of interest: that he saw a performance of Pinafore, which had a marked influence on his operatic essays, and that Judge Fuller died. Although the last entry is August 14 and Fuller departed for a year in Europe on August 17, there is not a mention made of any arrangements whatsoever. Whether his grandfather's death provided him with a legacy, or whether Fuller saved the money for the trip, it is impossible to say with certainty. It is probable that Fuller had saved some money, and that his family supplied the rest. A letter from his father (Nov. 25, 1879) urges him to "take in all that is desirable, even if it cost more," and congratulates him on the descriptive articles he had sent home, one of which had already been published in the Tribune. Although George Fuller wanted to see his son established in business he was proud of Henry's obvious talents. There is a long poem, "Pensieri Privati," written at the end of Fuller's imaginary travels, which gives a clearer picture of his spiritual discouragement and loathing for his work and environment than any commentary could possibly achieve. These extracts are selected and included solely for their informative value and not, certainly, as an illustration of Fuller's poetic ability. With this poem, then, spiritually at least, if not chronologically, ends one period of Fuller's life —for living was never to be the same drab routine to him again. PENSIERI P R I V A T I I write, and why? I write because I must. I have to say and none with whom to speak.

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H E N R Y BLAKE F U L L E R Son solo—though I would companion s e e k In this poor town of crumbs—not crumbs; no; crustl You think me then dissatisfied? And so I am, I am. Pray, where should discontent Grow ranker than just here, 'mongst men intent On non-essentials, empty, earth-bound, low. Yet not to them; they have no other life T h a n centers in this ganglion of trade. They make it; aye, and they are by it made— T h i s dashing, slashing, flashing, crashing strife. I've had ambitions, could they breathe this air? It stifled them, or dwarfed them down, at least. So if to crave the high I have not ceased, 'Tis that I have another atmosphere, more fair. It was not meant that I should reach life's height, Or why was I not elsewhere born and reared? T h e high, the noble, here is blurred and bleared— T h i s dark, distorting glass dims all, leaves nothing right. And what would I have done, what yet would do? I have three longings, then, one greater still: I'd build, or write, or souls with music thrill And I would know the Old World through and through. I who'ld (sic) cathedrals rear or palaces— I who'ld pluck out the organ's mighty soul, I who'ld in type find my ambition's g o a l Must live in dried u p deserts such as these. I'd see and hear the best of all the good; And if it were forbid me to create, I still could love, admire, appreciate; Here such a life is not e'en understood.

Chapter II It is interesting to conjecture what would have been the result of the usual modern education on a person of Fuller's type. At twenty-two, the average young scion of well-to-do parents is just accepting his sheepskin and looking for more worlds to conquer. At twenty-two, Fuller was full-statured mentally; not through the guidance of prescribed learning, b u t through the grim determination to slake his insatiable thirst for the stored-up fountains of knowledge that the world holds for those who seek them out. Fuller's formal education was meager by present-day standards; his schooling intermittent and early ended. His distaste for his native city and the uncongenial tasks that formed his daily life might well have crushed a spirit less tenacious, but it served only to drive Fuller more rapidly and surely along the ways his heart led him: escape into the countries of his dreams and to the land of books—his own books. Fuller's actual travels seemed to him long delayed; and when one considers the intensity of his desire to absorb the beauties of the Old World and to see for himself those ancient glories of which he had read so avidly, this is understandable. Yet at twenty-two Fuller was able to set out happily for the Grand T o u r , eager of soul, keen of mind, and sound of judgment—receptive in every fiber of his being. In three sturdy ledgers comprising over four hundred handwritten pages, Fuller has left the story of this first year of his European travels. T h e most hardened globe-trotter must gasp in envious amazement at the ground Fuller covered, even though he might fail to appreciate the methodical, systematic manner in which he covered it. It is impossible to stress too strongly the influence of this 9

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year u p o n Fuller's life and writings. T h e mellowness and century-old tradition of the Continent, its permanence, its established customs, its assured and polished manners, formed a sharp contrast to the uproar of a growing Chicago, just unleashing its tremendous energies in an uncontrolled frenzy of expansion. Everywhere were rapid changes, demand for speed and size; everyone was interested in the future, not the past—the future of the city that is like a religious belief to its inhabitants. T h i s contrast between the quiet by-ways of the prewar European scene and the turbulence of his native Chicago, so alien to his tastes, caused a conflict in Fuller's mind which was never to resolve itself completely. T h a t Fuller recognized the vitality and the crude force of Chicago as well as the emergence of a new type of "society" is amply attested by The Cliff-Dwellers and With the Procession; but he had very little interest in these curious phenomena. His land of heart's desire lay across the water; and it is only when he writes of this chosen milieu that he gives full expression to his abilities; for only then are his mind and spirit in harmony. Fuller left New York August 19, 1879, on T h e R o y a l Mail SS Scythia, a Cunarder lacking most of the luxuries today associated with the name. A f t e r a ten-day trip to Liverpool, unremarkable save for the complete absence of seasickness a m o n g the passengers, Fuller spent his first hours on foreign soil in the Liverpool Art Gallery, where he was delighted to find subjects from his beloved Dickens. His month in England gives an idea of the comprehensiveness of Fuller's ideas of sight-seeing. T h e itinerary speaks for itself. H e went to Chester, whose picturesqueness delighted his artistic soul, to Chatsworth, where he was provided with his first experience of the genus tourist in chattering droves, to H a d d o n Hall, where he was intrigued by the shortness of the bed of Q u e e n Elizabeth, to W a r w i c k Castle, to Kenilworth, to Stratford-on-Avon, where he was delighted w i t h the old lady caretakers w h o entertained "very pronounced opinions with regard to all the different Shakespearean contro-

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versies"; to Oxford, whose colleges dismayed him by their general air of physical decay—of which he says, "Neither their age, nor the climate, nor the violence of man would offer a sufficient explanation of their dreadful dilapidation." 2 Then he went to London to see the "marble jungle" 3 of Westminster Abbey, to hear the four hundred and twentieth performance of Pinafore; to wander about the Tower, only to find himself unceremoniously hustled through by the guides. At leisure, he viewed the Guildhall, the British Museum, the Houses of Parliament, the National Gallery; he made excursions to Kew, Richmond, Hampton Court, and the Zoological Gardens; he was not impressed by St. Paul's, "Wren's great classic sham," 4 but the South Kensington Museum, where were manuscripts of most of Dickens' novels, delighted him, as did the Inns of Court, with memories of Bleak House. He saw the remains of St. John's Priory, took delight in Prince Albert's Crystal Palace, plodded through Hyde Park, Greenwich, Chancery Lane, and Cook's Court, searching for landmarks of Dickens; in Madame Tussaud's, he was so wary of foolery that he suspected innocent bystanders; he toiled through Windsor, strolled the walks and playing fields of Eton, where he commented on the snobbery of the boys. In Gravesend he made the acquaintance of shrimp, which he described as "an average struck between a crab and a peanut." But the record in his diary parallels Baedeker himself. He was a meticulous and invincible sightseer. T h e second division of the journal is devoted to France, where Fuller proved even more tireless than in England. Here is a sample day in Paris (October n ) : I have done the whole Cite—except the Morgue!—and done it pretty thoroughly too. Notre Dame twice, inside, outside, front, back and up to the top; the Sainte Chapelle, twice also; a stroll around through the Palais de Justice; an outside view of the Hotel ι MS Journal, " A Year in Europe," Vol. I. September 5. 2 Ibid., I: September 6. s Ibid., I: September 10. *Ibid., I: September 16.

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Dieu; an inside view of the Tribunal de Commerce . . . a glance at the flower market nearby, and a general lounge along the quais and around the Pont Neuf. 5 O n another day he records "Six mortal hours in the L o u v r e . " β It is safe to say that Fuller missed nothing worth visiting in Paris and its environs d u r i n g his month's stay. G u i d e d by Baedeker, alone by preference, he absorbed Paris from Notre Dame to the Morgue, from the Quartier L a t i n to the Bois de Boulogne, recording his impressions of everything French, savoring the sharp Parisian contrasts, climbing all its weary eminences to sketch the city from different angles, puzzling over the values of the civilizations that have been in France. Early November found Fuller in T u r i n , the beginning of the journey through his beloved Italy. Genoa, Pisa, Florence, Siena, and Orvieto yielded u p their treasures in turn. T h e s e were but stepping-stones, however, to the greatly longed-for Rome, which he reached December seventh. T h e activities of this first R o m a n visit beggar description. It was a tireless pilgrimage for Fuller, so thoroughly was he i m b u e d with love of the Eternal City. H e was fortunate i n b e i n g in R o m e at this time of year for the ceremonies of Christmas in this center of R o m a n Catholic worship—and for the Befana, which he supported with a zest worthy of the most enthusiastic merrymaker. Fuller's reactions to the countless saints and legends of R o m e are humorous in the extreme. H e seizes upon P h i l i p de Neri with relief. From all I can gather, [he] seems to have been a very cheerful and sensible sort of saint. Even if he did once bring a child temporarily back to life . . . and even if, in the end, his heart did burst his ribs for the love of his divine master, still he was in general terms, so modern and practical and common sense a saint, that occasional little irregularities of this sort may readily be forgiven him. Would that there had been more like him. 7 5 Ibid., I: October u . β Ibid., I: October 14. τ Ibid., II: January 10.

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Fuller preserved an open mind on the pious customs of the faithful, nowhere so much in evidence as in Rome. In St. Peter's he was once so carried away by the general enthusiasm that he kissed the sacred toe not once, but three times, before he had the procedure correctly. T e n days in the latter part of January Fuller devoted to Naples, Pompeii, and Vesuvius. His descriptions of these last two places are among the most interesting pages in the journals. He was back in Rome in time for the Carnival, which began the thirtieth. Until early March Fuller lingered on in Rome, a good Italian scholar by now, and thoroughly at home in the city that held so much for him. He penetrated everywhere, from the Vatican to the Ghetto. He familiarized himself with the best that painting, sculpture, and architecture had to offer, and never scrupled to condemn as meretricious whatever he found so, from St. Peter's down. His remarks on this famous cathedral are severe indeed. Structurally, the only wholly admirable features of St. Peter's are the dome and the coffered ceiling of the nave, though the great vestibule is not without its good points. Aesthetically, St. Peter's is wholly pagan. Morally, St. Peter's is a glorification of a disChristianized Papacy. As a building, St. Peter's is rather grandiose than grand; to call it a "beautiful Christian temple of worship" is inadmissible; to pronounce it "a triumph of Catholic faith" is rankly absurd.8 He examined thoroughly more churches than the most devout Catholic tourist knows. And it was with deep regret that he left Rome behind. Assisi, Perugia, Florence, Bologna, Ravenna, Venice, Murano, Padua, Verona, Brescia, Milan, Como, Bellagio, Lugano, and a general tour of the lakes completed Fuller's stay in Italy, which had lasted nearly six months. A most interesting fact comes to light in his notations in Ravenna and Verona. There are passages used almost intact β IbidIV:

December 12.

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in The Chevalier of Pensieri Vani and The Chatelaine of La Trinite. In the third journal, pages thirteen and fourteen provide the background for The Chevalier's chapter on Ravenna; notably in the Cavaliere's exhortation to La Nullaniuna.® In this same journal, three pages will serve to show where one scene at least of The Chatelaine originated. It is interesting to read this following extract describing Fuller's visit to the tomb of Juliet, in comparison with Chapter VIII of The Chatelaine of IM Trinite: Their house, indicated to the sentimental tourist by a somewhat "intense" inscription of the flowery sort in which the poetical Italian so delights, stands in a narrow and gloomy street just out from the Piazza delle Erbe, and over the low archway that leads to the inner court appears the stone hat,—"cappelletto"—which all rightminded persons accept as an evidence of the former occupancy of the house. I was fortunate enough to find the family at home, although not exactly prepared for visitors. In the courtyard there was a great ado of horses, and donkeys, and carts, and wagons, and water-drawing at the well, while near the entrance I encountered the "bloody Tybalt" driving forth one of the juvenile Montagues who seemed to have been pulling one of the little Capulets' hair. Up in the second story balcony sat old Capulet himself over a plate of soup, and Lady Capulet appeared above knitting a stocking and gossiping with other female members of the house; while Juliet, high up in still another balcony—unless, indeed, it were she drawing water at the well—divided her attention between me and something she carried in her hand,—a lemon-squeezer, I think, or a curling-iron. But the famous balcony itself I found it rather difficult to fix. The whole court was balconied and balconied, to say nothing of the front toward the street; but the most ideally probable of them all seemed to me to be that temporarily occupied by Lady Capulet and adorned—temporarily, too, let us hope! —with a couple of pink-and-white checkered flannel shirts. The house of the Capulets, on the whole, came pretty well up to the scratch, and I took down in the flyleaf of my guide, to the evident interest of the neighborhood, the inscription above noted: β P. 142.

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Quesle furona le case dei Capuleti d'onde usci la Giuletta per cui tanto piansero i cuori gentili e i poeti cantarona. A l l this but increased my desire to visit the tomb of Juliet, and although for the last week I had been constantly indulging in anticipatory pooh-poohs for "both their houses," I finally knuckled down: I went direct from the house to the tomb, and was quite as successful with the one as with the other. I had been warned that not the slightest authenticity attached to the "so-called tomb o f " etc., and that the whole neighborhood of it was "prosaic and unattractive," but the truly poetic spirit rides triumphant over all such low and earthbound obstacles, and in this instance was rewarded by the whole things' panning out a great deal better than Italian poetry usually does. It is my business here to learn, and 1 am not too proud to learn of the humblest; so when I asked the little street-boy who undertook to conduct me past various barracks and through various stone-yards to the spot, who " G i u l e t t a " might be, his simple reply that she was "morta,"—dead, assured me at least that I was not working altogether without foundation. T h e fragmental sarcophagus called the " t o m b , " is placed in a sort of little chapel which snuggles up close against an old monastery wall, and the whole stands within a pleasant garden, brightened today with clouded apple-blossoms (not to mention the shining lettuce and the cheerful pea) and plenty of bright sun and blue sky. I don't say the tomb is quite as pathetic as a good live practical business man could make it; but, as I have already said concerning photographs, the Italians have little aptitude for business. However, the absence of weeping millions and all the other naturally to-be-looked-for properties, was partly made good by the withered wreaths and long dead flowers which English sympathy had placed there, according to the dates, years and years ago. One bouquet was from a descendent of Shakespeare, himself, while on the wall just above the poor old broken sarcophagus was hung a French ode written in faded violet ink. I had fancied that my guide would be some tender hearted young woman, and that we

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might mingle our tears together and have a pretty moist time generally. But the fact was quite the reverse; my guide was a young man, who left his gardening for a few moments in order to accompany me on my pilgrimage. He told me that the memorials were from—Germans; but . . . I know well enough that "with love for the memory of Juliet" is English. This same young man, in answer to my question as to whether a certain dilapidated old portrait of a dilapidated old ecclesiastic hanging close by was a Capulet, replied that it represented the brother of Giuletta's confessor. This young man had an ingenuous face and an honest blue eye, and so, perhaps, believed all he told me; but either his researches have been imperfect, or else he has been misled by hearsay. If he could have but shown me the step-mother of the second cousin of Giuletta's nurse, my satisfaction would have been full and complete. 10 May, June, and part of July, Fuller devoted to Switzerland and Germany. Despite his nostalgia for Italy, he seems to have enjoyed the offerings of these countries—from mountainclimbing in Interlaken, the bear pits at Berne, the Royal Palace at M u n i c h , the instruments of torture at Ratisbon, the Strassburg Cathedral clock, the scars of the H e i d e l b e r g students and innumerable other things. T h e r e are pages upon things Swiss, again suggesting The Chatelaine, and pages upon things Prussian, bristling with prewar militarism. T h e most interesting part, however, is the description of the Passion Play, which Fuller attended June twentieth. It is remarkably pictorial, sketching the long performance in the pouring rain in such a vivid fashion that it truly moves before us. From Germany, Fuller went to Holland, "the most expensive country in Europe," 11 which he left after a few days for Belgium. Memlinc and V a n Eyck provided him with more of interest here, b u t after a week he left for a farewell glance at Paris to refresh the memories of his earlier visit. T h e n to Canterbury, and to London for a like recapitulation, and the Pirates of Penzance (August 3, 1880) before he left for the Cathedral towns. T h e n Cambridge, which he pre10 11

Ibid., I I I : A p r i l 13. ibid., I I I : July 14.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

17

ferred to O x f o r d ; Peterborough, E l y , Lincoln, and Y o r k ; a day to each. F o u r days in E d i n b u r g h completed the tour, and F u l l e r stopped in L i v e r p o o l only long enough to dispose of the beard which had graced his trip, before e m b a r k i n g on the SS City of Richmond for N e w Y o r k on August 1. Less than two weeks later he was in Chicago, years richer and m a t u r e r in mind through his one year of solitary travel. It is as well to note here as elsewhere, the authors with whom Fuller indicated a familiarity d u r i n g this European tour. T h r o u g h o u t this j o u r n a l are scattered references, in his earlier diaries more detailed notes. Dickens, then, was his boyhood favorite, later we find Shakespeare, G i b b o n , J o h n son, R u s k i n , Byron, A r n o l d , T e n n y s o n , L o n g f e l l o w , Hawthorne, Verne, Lytton, T w a i n , Poe, Harte, L o w e l l , H e n r y J a m e s , and W . D. Howells. T w o letters to the Tribune are pasted in the back of Vol. I of this travel journal. Both are of several columns, signed " H . F . " T h e first, dated L o n d o n , October 27, is entitled " E n g lish R a i l w a y s , " the second dated Paris, N o v e m b e r 15, " P a r i s I n t r a - M u r a l C o m m u n i c a t i o n . " T h i s type of article was at one time in demand by American newspapers f r o m " O u r Foreign Correspondent." It is difficult to show in its true colorings the picture F u l l e r has painted of himself throughout these pages. Earnest, tireless, and solitary, he sought to gather all the knowledge and beauty within his reach. H e shrank appalled f r o m the crudities of the average tourist, f r o m the ubiquitous beggars a n d itchy palmed guides who "looked like gentlemen." H e was shocked at the casual attitude of the continental churchgoer w h o gabbles and wanders at will throughout all services. " T h e average Italian," says H e n r y , "comes to Mass for one of f o u r purposes—to pray, to beg, to spit, or to blow his nose." 1 2 Yet he never criticized a difference in manners or customs merely because it was a difference, as is the usual procedure for the traveler, but always on a basis of good taste. T h e n , too, the j o u r n a l abounds with those cleverly turned 1 -Ibid., III: November 13.

i8

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

phrases which catch the essence and spirit of a thought. T h e desire for this felicity of expression was early and ardent with Fuller, and his achievement of it gave many a memorable passage to his books.

Chapter III T h e interval between Fuller's first European trip and the publication of his first book, The Chevalier of Pensieri Vani, in 1890, was filled with a variety of activities. He engaged in no business, but spent his time writing and traveling. After the death of his father in 1885, he assumed his place as the head of the family, and assisted in the management of their business affairs. Until the death of his mother in 1907, Fuller lived at the family home or with his sister when he was not traveling, but he submitted as little as possible to the routine of family life. H e preferred always to be master of his own time, even to taking all his meals out, at whatever time suited his fancy. From the first of April to the twelfth of September, 1883, Fuller was again in Europe, revisiting England, France, Italy, and Switzerland. On his return voyage he docked at Boston and remained there for some time. Fuller's writings at this time were confined to perhaps the lightest type of literary effort that he ever attempted, the burlesque and the ballade. Although these burlesques are of importance only as tentative journalistic essays, it is interesting to see the completeness with which Fuller could digest and caricature the mood and style of other authors. T h i s was a very real ability, first to absorb and then to analyze, and it accounted to a great degree for the soundness of his critical faculties. Life published " A Transcontinental Episode, or Metamorphoses at Muggins Misery; A Co-Operative Novel by Bret James and Henry Harte" 1 which shows the remarkable results achieved by combining the matter and manner of these exponents of the cult of the he-man and of the apostleship 1 Life, III: 56 (Jail. 24, 1884), p. 47; III: 57 (Jan. 31), p. 62.

>9

2o

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

of elegance. This, as well as a burlesque on a popular song, "Some Day (Revised Edition)" 2 were signed "B.F." T w o later stories, " T h e Story of Naphtha, A T a l e of Culture, Fashion, and Duplicity, by Elizabeth Hodgson Phelps and Frances Stuart Burnett" 3 and " T h e Long and the Short of I t " 4 bear the signature "Blake Fuller." T h i s latter tale deals with the race of T o m m y Shorthand and Willy Longhand for the matrimonial prize of a fair lady. Tommy's shorthand letter reaches her before Willy's more laboriously indited epistle, but, as she cannot understand shorthand, the old adage " T h e race is not always to the swift" is again proven. T h e r e are several undated ballades among his papers, bearing the address "51 Hancock St., Boston," which were probably written at this time. Fuller has a notation of two ballades published in Puck of 1884, but there is none bearing even his initials. In this year, too, Fuller was sending articles to the Tribune. A n undated clipping of 1884, " A Middle Aged Romance," shows that Fuller wrote probably one of the earliest treatments on record of the marriage of the stenographer and the boss, although he subtitles it more elegantly " T h e Romance of a Middle-Aged Merchant and His Female Private Secretary." In the summer of 1884, after Fuller had returned to Chicago, "Pasquale's Picture," subsequently republished in From the Other Side, appeared in The Current* In an unpublished manuscript, tentatively entitled "My Early Books," Fuller tells something of its history. This story, "Pasquale's Picture," was the first I ever wrote and had regularly printed in a magazine. This magazine was called "The Current." It began ambitiously in Chicago and went on for two or three years until financial embarrassment, as I am told, sent the proprietor into hiding, among certain Trappists in Wisconsin. My story, which was fairly long and both pictorial and ingenuous, 2 Ufr, I I I : 65 ( M a r . 27, 1884), p . 173. zLifc, I I I : 66 ( A p r i l 3, 1884), p p . 187-189; III: G7 ( A p r i l 10, 1884), p p . 2 0 1 203. *lbid., I l l : 78 ( J u n e 26, 1884), p p . 355-357. 5 Current, 4: 82 (July 11, 1885).

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

21

was to have brought me twenty dollars. I saw it listed among the liabilities of the dead magazine in the corridor of the Cook County Court House, but do not recall that the money ever reached me. I read a portion of this story at a benefit for the family of Eugene Field at a Chicago Theatre in 1895 or 96. I think it even had an airing later on before a Woman's Club at the Hull House. A very interesting feature of these years is Fuller's venture into the field of operatic composition. He had always been fond of music and had studied it thoroughly, as he did everything. In the late eighties (1887 being the only date on any of his music) Fuller composed two light operas, libretto, voice, and piano, with suggestions for a more complete orchestration. These operettas, " M a r i q u i t a " and "Pipistrello," 6 were never produced. It is impossible to indicate the meticulous care evidenced in the preparation of these hand-written scores. Although the music is simple in character, it possesses a delicacy of harmony that makes some of the songs very charming. T h e plots of both operettas are obvious, with innumerable ingenious situations worked out in a spirited Gilbert and Sullivan fashion. T h e characters are good, the songs clever, and " M a r i q u i t a , " especially, abounds in a fine satire and gentle humor patently Gilbertian. Both librettos are full of the tortuous mazes of complication and confusion so dear to the famous collaborators. As Fuller maintained great reticence about his operatic ventures it seems expedient to give a more detailed description of these librettos than a full view of his work might seem to warrant. He must have spent many months of patient, eye-straining toil on their preparation, and it is evident from letters that have been preserved that he tried to place them from 1879 until 1890, but they were refused by various managers for one reason or another. Certainly they are illustrative of a phrase of Fuller's endeavors which is not common knowledge—and also of the fact that he attempted to bring to fulfillment another of his boyhood ideals. β Dated " I / - / 8 7 . "

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

22

M A R I Q U I T A OPERA SCENE:

Valladolid,

ACT I.

Reception

ACT I I .

Court

ACT I I I .

Ball-room,

A.D.

IN T H R E E

ACTS

1620.

Hall in Convent

before the Sandoval

of San Sebastian: Palace:

Palace of the Duchess of Pelionossa: Dramatis

Forenoon.

Afternoon. Evening.

Ρersonae Relative Length and Importance of Parts

Don R O D R I G O S A N D O V A L del Despenerado, patron and protector of the Convent of S. Sebastian. Age 25 M A N U E L , his friend. Age 26 Don Diego de las R A T O N E R A . Elderly G A S P A R , his man of business. Middle-aged M I G U E L , in the employ of the Duchess. Age 23 M A R I Q U I T A (Rafael) Age 18Ί foundlings in MARIQUILLA Age 18 J Convent Duchess of Pelionossa. Middle-aged Donna I S A B E L , Rodrigo's sister. Age 20 Superior of Convent. Elderly M A R I A N A , portress of Convent. Elderly

Tenor Baritone 9 Basso •4 Baritone 15 Tenor 6 Soprano 15 M-Soprano 5 M-Soprano 12 Soprano 4 Contralto 4 Contralto 4 100

Chorus of Foundlings, Suitors, Nuns, Guards, Blackamoors, Pages, etc. T h e situation is as follows: T h e young ladies of the Convent School and Foundlings H o m e of San Sebastian, Valladolid, are preparing for their third and last public promenade; after which, according to custom, if they have not attracted proposals of marriage, they must become nuns. Mariquilla, one of the pretty foundlings, is beloved by Miguel, who has smuggled man's garments into the Convent for her escape. Mariquita, another of the girls, is resentful of the coming parade, and desires a noble match.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

23

This is not strange, for she is of noble birth, although only Mariana, the portress, knows this. T h e ingenious complications of the plot immediately begin to unfold. Diego, thoroughly disgusted at the birth of his seventh daughter, had, many years before, bundled her off to this very asylum. T h e Duchess, his second cousin, and a woman of enormous wealth, has sardonically promised her riches to Diego's seventh daughter, secure in her ignorance of that seventh daughter's existence. Diego comes to claim his child, bearing the torn identification tag which reads— "Mariqui—" In the midst of this, the young Rodrigo comes to view his new charges, who return his scrutiny with interest. T h e Duchess is dumfounded to see how she has been caught, and in the confusion Mariquita escapes in the page's clothes. When her disappearance is discovered, Diego, as a matter of policy, declares Mariquilla his daughter. T h i s causes Manuel to transfer his affections from Isabel to the heiress. Miguel asserts his prior claim; and the clamor of father and suitors is settled by the Superior's refusal to allow Mariquilla to leave the Convent. These, then, are the elements: 1. An unidentified daughter, heiress to a great fortune. 2. T h e true daughter is known to no one but Mariana, the portress, and the audience. 3. A fortune is at stake on the identity. 4. T h e true daughter has disappeared. 5. Manuel's change of heart has earned him Isabel's displeasure. 6. Rodrigo's interest has been roused by the vanished Mariquita. T h e confusion increases in fine style. Mariquita takes service with Rodrigo under the name of Rafael. Diego demands his daughter's release from Rodrigo, as patron of the convent. T h e lovers continue to clamor. T h e Duchess clears her heels of responsibility by presenting scores of claims on Mariquilla from alleged parents, and demands Rafael, to

24

HENRY BLAKE F U L L E R

whom she has taken a fancy, as her secretary. Gaspar, the shrewd, begins to suspect. Events reverse rapidly. Diego disclaims Mariquilla and demands Mariquita, accusing Rodrigo of having abducted her. Manuel decides to renew his suit of Isabel, who will have none of him. Only Miguel stands sturdily by his love for Mariquilla; and the second act closes with a fine concerted uproar. T h e whirl of happenings continues through the final act at the Duchess' ball. T h e Superior acknowledges Mariquita's identity to the Duchess, who promptly changes her will in favor of Rafael. Gaspar, as a last supreme effort, arranges a marriage between Diego and the Duchess, hoping thus to secure her money in spite of everything. T h e Duchess accepts, and then coyly confesses her new will. T h e minor plot now brings on the climax. Manuel, whose pleas for Isabel's forgiveness are in vain, insults her and demands her champion. Rafael, who has boasted of his prowess, and been favored by Isabel, is chosen for the duel. T h e duel is amusingly worked up through a redowa, a polka, and a galop, allowing all the principals to enter. Just as Rafael falls wounded her identity as Mariquita is proclaimed. Matters adjust themselves swiftly; and a grand procession of principals, each arm in arm at last with his proper mate, descend the grand staircase for the final chorus. Gaspar, the only male That's left unwed contents himself with escorting the Superior and Mariana. *

*

#

PIPISTRELLO O P E R A IN T H R E E

ACTS

TIME:

The Castle of Roccanera, between Rome and First Half of the Seventeenth Century.

ACT I.

Great Hall of Castle:

SCENE:

Forenoon.

Naples.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER ACT II. ACT III.

Garden Terrace before Castle: Late Upper Gallery in Castle: Night.

Dramatis

Afternoon.

Personae

Prince of Pompano his son (Pipistrello) R U P E R T O , Pompano's Secretary B A S I L I O , Count of Roccanera B A R N A B A , Major-Domo at Roccanera B R U N O N E , Captain of Guard at Roccanera A U R O R A , Basilio's niece C O S T A N Z A , Basilio's niece O R T E N Z I A , Basilio's sister E L I Z A B E T T A , Pompano's sister MASSIMILIANO,

RODOLFO,

«5

Basso Tenor M-Soprano Baritone Baritone Tenor Soprano M-Soprano Contralto"! Contralto J

4

12 16

8 15 3 17 12

^ 100

Chorus of Students, Postilions, Kitchen Boys, Young Officers, Men-at-Arms, and Ladies in Waiting. T h e action [of Act I] follows three main lines which start out as follows: 1. Aurora (home from her convent) and Rodolfo (back from the wars) have been betrothed without ever having seen each other, and the wedding day has arrived. Rodolfo, in order to obtain a preliminary "private view," lags a little behind his retinue, and after a brief delay presents himself to the assembled company in the guise of a strolling singer— "Pipistrello." In this capacity he so takes Aurora's fancy that she immediately gives the minstrel the preference over her tardy fiance; and when Rodolfo presently appears, in his own proper person, she pretends that a delay at such a time is nothing less than an insult, declines any explanation, refuses to marry him, and the company breaks up in great confusion. 2. Aurora's interest in Pipistrello becomes known to two persons: Barnaba, the major-domo at Roccanera (an elderly man unreconciled to his years) and Ruperto, the private secretary of Rodolfo's father (a pert and conceited young boy of eighteen or twenty). Both are in love with Aurora, and each one, for the furtherance of his suit, resolves to assume the

26

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

name and costume of "Pipistrello." Elaborate quartette for Aurora and the three Pipistrellos in middle of Act II. 3. Aurora's interest in Pipistrello becomes known, further, to another pair of people—her two aunts. Ortenzia (elderly) is a great upholder of blood and family, and insists that, after all, Aurora must redeem the promise given to Rodolfo. Costanza (no longer young) is a rather romantic and lackadaisical creature, and maintains that if Aurora prefers Pipistrello she should be allowed to marry him instead. This difference of opinion leads to strained relations between the sisters, and finally to an open rupture—the quarrel being complicated by the two imagining themselves rivals in the affections of the young Ruperto. T h e text keeps the plane of high comedy of the romantic type, and the dialogue reflects the semi-courtly tone of the epoch.7 Act II. Rodolfo returns after his dismissal to plead his love and is dismissed anew—but learns from Ortenzia that Aurora's heart is set upon the vagrant minstrel, Pipistrello. Ruperto and Barnaba in turn try impersonations of Pipistrello with no success, but Aurora gives Ruperto her chain and Barnaba her purse to be rid of them. This is the only minor complication. Rodolfo, entering as the third Pipistrello, is joyously accepted. After the quartette, the lovers are about to fly when they are apprehended by the guard. Ruperto and Barnaba are also taken, and the three Pipistrellos are sent to languish in the dungeons. Act III. T h e skein unwinds as Barnaba and Ruperto escape and further mystify the aunts, who have come to the prison with very different ends in view: Ortenzia to see that Pipistrello is safely in the prison, Costanza to let him out. There are scenes and recriminations when the chain and purse are discovered. Pompano demands his son's release, and Pipistrello, being the only remaining prisoner, is led from the dungeon, reveals himself as Rodolfo, and claims his bride. In the general felicity, Barnaba woos Costanza and Ruperto does not escape the toils of Ortenzia. Finale. * Notes and synopsis of Act I by Η . B. Fuller.

HENRY

BLAKE FULLER

27

A third libretto, Cyrano de Bergerac, must obviously be of later date than Mariquita and Pipistrello, for the original was not produced until December 27, 1897. T o o , the script has not the meticulous elegance which marks all the early efforts of Fuller. It is quite possible that Fuller saw the play produced within a few years of its introduction and was struck by the possibilities of an operatic version. In his version, Fuller follows the original text in all the plot essentials, condensing greatly by means of the opening chorus, which establishes the locale for every act, and by the translation of dramatic narrative into terms of music. Much is deleted, but the spirit of the whole is authentically retained. Perhaps the only major changes occur in Act V, the action of which takes place one month after the Siege of Arras instead of fifteen years later, and near Arras instead of at Paris. De Guiche is entirely omitted from this act, and the nuns sing vespers as a most effective background for Cyrano's great revelation. T h e verse throughout this Cyrano is facile and effective. There is here no mere slavish translation, but an apt rendering of the spirit of Cyrano which loses little in drama or pathos, and that little due to the fact that it may not be heard in the medium of music, for which it was intended, but must be read. Whether or not Fuller completed more than the libretto is unknown. These quotations from Act V will serve to show the fine tenor of the script. Cyrano's revelation is beautifully done.

ROXANE:

For on this letter which he never wrote Are tears—and they are yours.

CYRANO:

Aye.

Mine too the voice That spoke beneath your balcony. The prompter everyone forgets:— There's my whole life— I in the shadow at the ladder's foot, While others lightly mount to love's delights

28

HENRY BLAKE

FULLER

A n d , i n his last m a g n i f i c e n t d e f i a n c e — CYRANO:

Let none support me! (He leans against tree) Death comes! I'll meet him well afoot A n d sword in hand. Useless, you say? But d o I fight from hope of victory? Nay! More useless be the fight, more gallant too! —Ha! ye are there, mine enemies of old! Falsehood! (He cuts the air with his sword)

And

Cowardice and Compromise, A n d Prejudice, and Folly! —Surrender? I? or parley? Never; no! (He makes wide passes in air and pauses panting) Full sure am I you'll lay me low at last, Yet I'll fall fighting still. —You take all from me—all; Y o u strip from me the laurel and the rose. Despoil me, and ye will! Despite your worst, T h e r e ' s one thing yet I hold against your powers; A n d when tonight I enter God's fair court, A n d sweep with doffed casque heaven's threshold blue, O n e thing, all proudly void of stain I'll bear away, despite ye— (He springs forward with sword raised. The sword drops from his hand; he staggers and falls into the arms of Roxane and Le Bret) ROXANE:

(kissing his forehead)

A n d that is . . . ?

CYRANO:

(opening his eyes, recognizing snow-white crest!

her, and smiling)

My

T h e r e are several songs i n v a r i o u s stages of disrepair w h i c h w e r e w r i t t e n a r o u n d the p e r i o d of the operas. S o m e f e w b e a r t h e 1887 date. T h i s was a p p a r e n t l y t h e last t i m e F u l l e r g a v e a n y serious t h o u g h t to a m u s i c a l career. O n e is i n c l i n e d to t h i n k t h a t his c o n s t i t u t i o n a l i n a b i l i t y to desert a t h i n g u n m a s t e r e d w o u l d h a v e k e p t F u l l e r w o r k i n g d o g g e d l y at his m u s i c if his a m b i t i o n h a d really c e n t e r e d h e r e . B u t i n t h e w i n t e r of 1 8 8 6 - 1 8 8 7 F u l l e r h a d released his

HENRY BLAKE FULLER pent-up romanticism in a n o t h e r m e d i u m . The Pensieri

29 Chevalier

of

Vani must h a v e b e e n to h i m e v e n then the talisman of

the career that was to o p e n b e f o r e h i m . O n e cannot w r i t e such a b o o k w i t h o u t the sense of p o w e r a n d a u t h e n t i c talent g i v i n g a joy to every line. F u l l e r c o u l d n o t have failed to e x p e r i e n c e the satisfaction that comes o n l y to the craftsman w h o glories in the w o r k he fashions, as it seems to spring, entire, f r o m the recesses of his brain. H e tells, himself, h o w this first b o o k came i n t o b e i n g . The Chevalier of Pensieri Vani was written in 1886 (perhaps through into 1887) when I was approaching thirty. I had been abroad (with especial reference to Italy) in 1880, and again in 1883. A third visit, after another three years, must be, by reason of family circumstances, one for the mind and pen only. Well, that was easy. T h e study of things Italian had continued to engross me: I was saturated and had but to precipitate. T h e overflow, without any prompting or solicitation, quite took care of itself. The Chevalier of Pensieri Vani was written in a business office on Lake Street, Chicago. T h e office was a small one, where little business was done and where the personnel (myself excepted) would often be absent. I had a desk beside the manager's own. Mine was as large as his; my waste basket too. One day when alone, I reached down into the waste basket, fished u p a discarded envelope and began; "It was the Chevalier of Pensieri Vani who halted his travelling carriage—" if that be the way in which the book, the first page of which I have not seen for years, really starts. T h e Chevalier advanced toward me out of the super-saturated atmosphere; confident, but a stranger. I had yet to learn how far he would go, what he would do. But he had begun to travel and he kept it up; his pause "upon the brow of the Ciminian Forest" if that is precisely where he "halted" was not for long. He immediately ran over on a second envelope which I pasted to the first, and over a third; and so on. He became a long linked row of old envelopes; and presently he advanced to large sheets of memorandum paper, in copying from which, later on, I made my first experiments with a primitive typewriter. A l l these early chapters or sections were written merely for his pleasure and mine; or, rather, for his necessity and mine: seem-

JO

HENRY BLAKE

FULLER

ingly, they had to be. There was no slightest thought of possible publication until the book was three quarters or four fifths done. Progress was slow; there was no date to meet, and no presumptuous ambition to print. We mused and meditated and enjoyed as we went along, and we recorded our advance chapter by chapter, in a pocket memorandum book. . . . Some three years later it occurred to me that the publication which I had imagined for the book during the composition of its latest chapters might become a reality. A minor house in Boston undertook publication at the author's expense. T h e proofs, which came slowly, were read at Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, through a late summer and an early autumn. T h i s work, done by an inexperienced hand, far from all books of reference, helped produce a rather imperfect volume; and I felt both gratified and relieved when the Century Company at New York made a proposal to bring out a new edition. T h i s edition had, of course, the benefit of revision; and due attention was given to type, binding, and decorations. T h e first edition, 8 faulty as it was, had the fortune to gain the good will of James Russell Lowell, Charles Eliot Norton and other New Englanders; indeed all the first notices of consequence came from Boston, where the Transcript in particular was kind. T h e revised New York edition contained an inserted chapter on Siena, and a dedication to Mr. Norton. T h e title remained unchanged, though there were objections to it. An English critic with American affiliations complained that it was trilingual. He forgot " T h e Young Chevalier" and the "Marquis of Carabas." An Italian professor kindly advised me that " T h e Chevalier Van-Pensieri" would be "even more poetical" but I remembered Van Buren, Van Doran, and other familiar surnames, and made no change. Many readers preferred "Shev-alyea" to "Chevalier," and heaped up good measures by adding "Pahn-sieri" as if the word were French. T o turn from linguistic to financial considerations. One of my recollections of Boston on landing from Europe, in the autumn of 1892, is concerned with efforts to collect my royalties. T h e publishers 9 had been slow to remit, and the attorney I had employed against them was hardly more satisfactory. I spent some moments in a State St. bank with its president, over a check which was not 8

Boston: J . G. Cupples, 1890 (under the pseudonym "Stanton Page"). » J . G. Cupples, Boston.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

31

quite good. In the end I got my dues. T h e sum involved was really quite inconsiderable. . . . Let us return to the book itself. It was written, after all, not for profit, but because it had to be written; from one point of view a need; from another, a sort of amende honorable for careless visits to places that deserve better treatment, and for neglect (with attendant regrets) to visit certain other places at all. Yet that I had not seen a particular town or district seemed no valid reason why that town or district should not go into my book. One sometimes writes with a freer hand for lack of positive knowledge and definite experience; besides there was always the future, with its chance to make freedoms and audacities good. The Chevalier seems to have been less warmly welcomed in the suburbs of Boston. One of the officers of the New York Company which published it brought it to the attention of a reading club of Yonkers, and the club rebelled. Hence his need of printing, in self defence, a large double sheet of press-notices to convert his recalcitrant circle. Only one of these forty-odd reviews was unfavorable; in those days the New York Sun was still impatient over any Western presumptions toward "culture." Sometimes the centre of the metropolis is as provincial as the remotest parish. 10 One cannot but think that of all Fuller's writings The Chevalier must have been his favorite. Never again did he recapture the exuberant, romantic mood which produced full statured some of the most charming people of our literature. It is inadequate to speak of The Chevalier as a collection of "travel sketches," although the " b l u r b " for the first edition does considerably worse. T h i s slim volume is fare for the epicure of the purely decorative; in its felicity of episode, its wealth of background, its delicacy of framework, and its gentle satire it is for all time a graceful and restrained gesture in a world of fiction that must sometimes weary of the matterof-fact. T h e urbanity so much desired of Matthew Arnold finds perfect expression through this little group of personages who play their parts with quiet gusto against the cameo-cut setting of an Italy that most of us will never know. It is truly another world in which such fascinating imbroglios as the 10 "My Early Books," unpublished MS.

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controversy over the Iron Pot may occur, where the pursuit of Aldines and unknown Madonnas may give rise to such finished diplomacy, where an operatic career may be made through simple kindness of heart, and where a lonely monk may be gladdened by the spirit of kindliness that led his guests to evoke harmony for the first time from that pathetically silent organ. T h e suave Prorege, the surly Duke of Avon and Severn, the grim Margravaine of Schwahlback-Schreckenstein, the wily Countess, the gay Seigneur, and the poor bewildered Occident are, with the Chevalier, aristocrats of fiction. In The Chevalier, Fuller reveals much of himself and of his prejudices. In the Prorege's polished haranguing of poor Occident from Shelby County there appears a large part of Fuller's philosophy. T o him [the Prorege] the only man to be envied was the man whose time was in some degree his own; and the most pitiable object that civilization could offer was the rich man a slave to his chronometer. Too much had been said about the dignity of labor, and not enough about the preciousness of leisure. Civilization, in its last outcome, was heavily in the debt of leisure, and the success of any society worth considering was to be estimated largely by the use to which its fortunati had put their spare moments. He wrung from Occident the confession that, in the great land of which Shelby County may be called the center, activity, considered of itself and quite apart from its objects and its results, was regarded as a very meritorious thing; and he learned that the bare figure of leisure, when exposed to the public gaze, was expected to be decorously draped in the garment of strenuous endeavor. People were required to appear busy even if they were not. 11 Fuller's lifelong withdrawal from publicity might be explained by a continuation of the same conversation. In privacy, he declared, there was a fine charm, a high distinction; and in the present age, where the machinery of celebrity was so cunningly contrived that almost anybody who would drop The Chevalier of Pensieri

Vani, New York, 1899, p. 98.

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in his penny might set the model to working, privacy rose to dignity, and might, indeed, rank as a virtue. 12 In the concluding lines of The Chevalier, Fuller gives the kernel of his conclusions on himself in relation to the world about him. . . . he consoled himself with the reflection that no one of us all was able to establish the criterion of real success, or to see the end before the end came; that life had many sides, and that Italy had not yet given up to him all that she had to give; and he presently became himself again. He could still congratulate himself on his exemption from the burdens of wealth, the chafings of domestic relations, the chains of affairs, the martyrdom of a great ambition, and the dwarfing provincialism that comes from one settled home. Others might falter; but he was still sufficient unto himself, still master of his own time and his own actions, and enamored only of that delightful land whose beauty age cannot wither and whose infinite variety custom can never stale. 13 Of the reception of The Chevalier, Fuller has already told. Suffice to say that James Russell Lowell, Charles Eliot Norton, and William Dean Howells expressed their delight in no uncertain terms and, despite the almost universal incredulity that anything so fine had come out of Chicago, the reviewers almost unanimously declared the excellence of the book, while reluctantly admitting that good things may, but usually do not, come out of Nazareth. Fuller has written of his next volume: The Chatelaine of La Trinite was meant to do for the Alps,— French, German, Swiss and Italian—what its predecessor had done for Italy itself. Its tripartite character is shown in its title and in the group of three men who figure in its pages. Aurelia West, in The Chatelaine, was designed as a companion-piece to George W. Occident, in The Chevalier: Americans both. And both of them reappeared on an occasion grandly American in the sketch entitled "In Such a Night," which concludes the book of pictorial dialogues called The Puppet Booth. The Chatelaine, though dealis Ibid., p. 99. 13 Ibid., pp. 184-185.

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

ing with the mountains, was written among the flats. I composed it in the house of relatives on South Park Avenue, Chicago.14 It recalls a third story bedroom, fronting west, and warm on summer afternoons. The ninth of the ten chapters was written on the St. Paul train between Chicago and Milwaukee during one of my frequent summer trips between Chicago and Oconomowoc. Flat land again: I recall no mountain peaks along the shores of Lake Michigan.15 The Chatelaine, from a purely technical standpoint, is more finished in form and structure than The Chevalier. T h e latter, with its variety of incident, depends for unity on manner rather than on a definite theme. The Chatelaine illustrates the theme that those who attempt to revaluate others' standards according to their own estimate of what those standards should be reap a meager reward. Aurelia West, the eager young American, attempts to surround the Chatelaine with the pomp and ceremony so inseparable from her idea of European nobility. T h e necessity for these outward signs has never occurred to the Chatelaine, who has always, as is the custom of one "to the manner born," taken herself for granted. But Aurelia painstakingly builds up a new personality bristling with armorial bearings, which vastly intrigues the simple Chatelaine once her initial bewilderment is past. T h e three men who have companioned the ladies through their Swiss adventurings, Fin-de-Siecle, Zeitgeist, and Tempo Rubato, are called upon suddenly for devotion where there exists but a casual interest, and for proof of fealty in grand medieval manner, which manner, as their names indicate, is far removed from their temperaments. T h e gentlemen sidestep gracefully, each in his characteristic fashion, and extricate themselves from a situation that begins to pall. Aurelia's enthusiasm has led her to fantastic demands on the part of her newly created grande dame, but her will alone is not equal to forcing her companions to sustain the Chatelaine in the röle so tryingly evolved. We can only hope that the Chatelaine one 1 4 "3343 S. Park Ave., Chicago, summer 1891 (7-8 weeks)" written in Fuller's own copy of The Chatelaine. New York: T h e Century Company, 1892. is "My Early Books," unpublished MS.

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day returned to herself and did not suffer permanently from Aurelia's delusions of grandeur. The Chatelaine he ids many points of interest for the student of Fuller's work. It contains not only such magnificent descriptive passages as the tale of the crazed A x e n q u i s t , w h o relives forever the horrors of an avalanche, and the sly jesting at artistic and antiquarian pretensions that made The Chevalier so charming, but it also expounds some definite theories on the art of writing, and expresses telling comparisons of European and American manners. T h u s , the G o v e r n o r slays Fin-de-Siecle and his realistic theories of fiction: T h e great thing in art was not to know, nor even to feel, but to divine. Observation was good, assuredly; sympathy was better, even indispensable; but what, after all, was to be placed before the exercise of the constructive imagination freely working its own way on to its own end?—an imagination that seized on a word, a gesture, a flower, a flash of color, a simple succession of sounds, and by means of a few humble, external facts called out from within such a multiplicity of correlated fancies as resulted at last in a drama, a fresco, a symphony, a cathedral. T h e genesis of a work of art was the genesis of the echo; one word is spoken and twenty are evoked in reply—only no reverberations were to be looked for from empty nothingness. Or, if fiction must be scientific, let it look to the method of the naturalist, who from a single bone reconstructs and vivifies a complete animal. It was well enough to hold the mirror up to nature; but let it be a compound mirror—one that reflects again till the prosaic outlines of the original subject arc increased, strengthened, multiplied, surrounded by the glamour of new presentations and new combinations, and the bare simplicity of the primary image loses its poor identity in the fused intricacies of a thousand secondaries.16 T h u s Zeitgeist rebukes A u r e l i a West for her criticism of the fare and service of the small Swiss villages: Nowhere in her country, except in a few leading establishments in the great centers, had he found acceptable fare and attention, and nowhere was civility a certainty; an uncouth, insolent "inThe Chatelaine of La Trinite, New York: 1892, pp. 65-66.

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dependence" upset all calculations and really nullified many an outlay—even those who would behave not always could. Whereas on the Continent every little place, however remote, however humble, could offer palatable fare, cleanliness and courtesy.17 Fuller's most violent fulminations were reserved, however, for the female as the corner stone of the American social edifice—a theme which forms the central axis of his forthcoming realistic novels. What [demands Zeitgeist] was American society, but a magnificent galley in which husbands and fathers toiled at the oars, while wives and daughters sat above in perfumed idleness? He had met a gentleman in New York the possessor of twenty millions of florins, who had told him that he was working for his board and clothes—he seemed to be employing a recognized phrase. This unfortunate toiled more incessantly than his meanest clerk, and had absolutely not a single pleasure; but his wife and daughters, along with a hundred others like them, resided in a great hotel, without duties, insensible of any obligations, and unoccupied except by their own diversions. . . . Did not woman lead man into the dining-rooms of American hotels? Did not man wait for woman's permission before bowing to her on the public street? Was not all culture, all study, all leisure, all the mechanism that worked on toward the amenities and refinements so completely in the hands of woman that few girls of position and opportunities were able to select a satisfactory husband from their own circle? And yet it was in such a land as that —the veritable paradise of woman—that the abhorrent reptile of female suffrage had reared its hideous head and had dared to hiss out its demand for "equal rights"! 18 Before the publication of his next volume, Fuller took a third European trip, of six months duration, 18 which included Provence, the Riviera, Rome, the Bay of Naples, Spain, and a week in both Paris and London. While in London Fuller received a request from the editor of The Century for an article on Westminster Abbey. This article, "Westminster Ab111bid., p. io2. ie Ibid., pp. lio-iii. 19 January

5-June 18, 189a.

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bey," 20 discusses its subject from angles architectural, historical, "eccleseological," political, and personal, and includes a lengthy argument for the burial of famous yet worthy Americans within Westminster's hallowed precincts. Fuller's knowledge of the fine arts makes his criticisms of the architecture and sculpture of the A b b e y most pleasurable reading, and it is to be hoped that the many other fine judgments on the masterpieces of the O l d W o r l d must not languish forever between the covers of his travel journals. Fuller would now seem to have established himself definitely, both by conviction and production, in that literary mood known as romantic. But classification is always dangerous while a man can hold a pen, and many critics were to be confounded out of their own mouths not once, b u t several times, before the full extent of Fuller's versatility manifested itself. 20 Century, Vol. X L V (March 1893). pp. 700-718.

Chapter IV The Cliff-Dwellers (1893), and With the Procession (1895), both realistic novels of Chicago life, mark a complete change in the material but not in the spirit of Fuller's writing. Hatred for Business, the Juggernaut which grinds away the souls of men while allowing them to live out their pitifully circumscribed little lives, pervades both books; hatred, too, for the tyranny of sex, which forces men into the path of this Juggernaut, and robs them of their integrity, their hope, their very spirits, to gratify the materialistic ambition of their women. These books, though written with pity, are a bitter indictment of the social and economic forces which were rising in ever increasing power in the Chicago of that day. Fuller was fully sensitive to the false values and the lack of any symmetrical, logical plan in the rush about him, and he has immortalized his scorn in some of the cruelest jibes that have ever been leveled at Chicago. For example: ". . . he was sure she was a true daughter of Chicago; she had the one infallible local trait—she would rather talk to a stranger about her own town than about any other subject"; 1 and the bland insult of the Bostonian brother of the Chicago Floyd, " I see, if you can only be big you don't mind being dirty"; 2 and "This town of ours labors under one peculiar disadvantage; it is the only great city in the world to which all its citizens have come for the one common, avowed object of making money. There you have its genesis, its growth, its end and object . . . " 3 Despite the seeming harshness of Fuller's treatment of his birthplace, he presents every side of the picture fairly and 1 The Cliff-Dwellers, New York: 1893, p. 26. 2 Ibid., p. 84s. a With the Procession, New York: 1895, p. 248.

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39

completely. One realizes the tremendous vitality of the city that grew from an Indian village to a metropolis of two million citizens within the life span of an individual. One senses the almost chauvinistic spirit animating the Chicagoan, which produces rapid results on a large scale where the tradition of the East would content itself with a few speeches and a memorandum. The Chicagoan of Fuller's books is in deadly earnest about his city, and he can afford to smile at the daily column his newspaper collects on his barbarism. And he is not ashamed of wanting his name carven big on the solid foundation of his solid contribution to civic advancementhe knows the upturn of the tide when it comes, and does not intend to be quietly engulfed through any false modesty. He believes in Chicago with the matter-of-factness of the Bostonian who christened his town the Hub—and he had and has concrete evidence for his belief. He gets things done. Just as The Chevalier was hailed as suggesting Sterne, Thackeray, Cervantes, Dobson, Daudet, James, and even Carlyle, The Cliß-Dwellers 4 has been compared to the novels of Howells, Norris, Dreiser, Herrick, Hardy, Zola, and George Moore, many of which it antedated. Truly Fuller was of a distinguished company on both counts, although he must have suffered a certain irritation throughout his lifetime to see how invariably critics tried to classify his writings by the simple method of bracketing them with those of other and better-known authors. There are two salient facts concerning The Cliff-Dwellers and With the Procession which will serve to illustrate the reasons for the importance of these books—first to the history of American literature, and secondly to Fuller's reputation as a novelist. They were well in the van of those novels which changed the course of American fiction for the decades 18901910. Hamlin Garland sounded the approach of naturalism with his book of essays, Crumbling Idols (1893). Stephen Crane's Maggie (1893), Frank Norris' McTeague (1899), and Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie (1900), taken in conjunction ••Written January 11-February 23, 1893, at 3343 So. Park Ave., Chicago.

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with the milder realism of Mary Wilkins Freeman and the morbid psychology of Kate Chopin's Awakening (1899), pointed to the establishment of a sterner school of fiction than that of their contemporaries, the genre writers and the writers of historical fiction. T h e early years of the twentieth century found this school established—showing a vigorous and vital interest in the real problems universal to humanity, in economic and political conditions, and in the psychologic reactions of men to living interests; showing, too, an increasing social consciousness in the preponderance of the themes upon the relation of men and women to each other and to society. The Cliff-Dwellers and With the Procession were among the first and certainly among the most finished of that school variously known as naturalists, realists, or veritists. T h e second fact of importance in regard to The Cliff-Dwellers and With the Procession is that Fuller, in writing them, was interested more in the human problem he presented than in his picturing of a social era. In view of the fact that these books are undoubtedly among Chicago's most valuable social documents, this should not be underestimated. Fuller says of the first novel: The Cliff-Dwellers, my first essay in "realism," was developed from a novelette called, I think, "Between the Mill-Stones." This was produced on the occasion of a competition instituted by a Chicago newspaper which wished a realistic story with local flavor. The hero, a young man from the East, was unhappy in his business affairs and in his domestic relations, and ended with suicide. The manuscript was submitted but was not used, and it was not returned. Requests for its restitution were met with impatience and then with contumely. I was told that it had been lost and that it was worthless anyhow. Perhaps it contravened the taste of a community that was still highly optimistic. Such notes as I had preserved were used in the composition of The Cliff-Dwellers a few years later, when the Columbian Exposition helped along a hearing for Chicago Fiction. The theme was less mournful than that of the early study period. The book asked this questionIs it better for a young man to marry a girl who has pleasant, welldisposed family connections, yet who is rather flimsy and deficient

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herself, or for him to marry a girl who is much finer and stronger in herself, yet who has a disadvantageous and even disreputable set of relatives? The idea being, that even in informal America, marriage may be less a matter between individuals than between families. In this case the young man reached a solution by marrying both, or each, if preferred. I doubt whether my theme was detected. Since then I have tried to intimate the theme plainly, on the first page, if not in the title.5 T h e center of action in this novel is the Clifton, a large office building, pictured as enclosing within its walls the lives and fortunes, loves and ambitions of its inhabitants, the CliffDwellers. From this focus radiate the influences that regulate the destinies of the chief characters. As Fuller has indicated, the main theme concerns itself with the marriages of George Ogden, the young Bostonian. Yet Ogden is throughout a mere puppet in the hands of forces which he can neither understand nor control. He is given a position in the Underground National Bank owned by Erastus M. Brainard, a hard, unscrupulous financier. As the character of this man unfolds to Ogden, as he learns bit by bit the facts of his family life— that he has cast off his eldest son rather than see him anything but a business man; that he refuses even to see the younger daughter \vho has married a coarse adventurer against her father's will—Ogden's interest in Brainard's elder daughter, Abby, which had been keen, experiences the check of caution. He marries Jessie Bradley, a young woman of no particular personality, merely, it would seem, to marry someone. Jessie promptly plunges him into debt attempting to gratify her social aspirations; and when their baby dies, he falsifies his accounts to meet his most pressing creditors. T h i s is Brainard's opportunity to crush him for preferring another woman to Abby. He threatens exposure and imprisonment in no uncertain terms, baldly giving his reasons, in the presence of Abby and Ogden's mother. Despite Abby's pleadings, Brainard would have made good his threats had not fate intervened. T h a t very night he is dealt what proves to be his death wound. 5 "My Early Books."

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His outcast son, Marcus, who has crept into the house, to vent his bitterness on his father and his brother Burt after his release from jail, stabs Brainard with a paper cutter when he believes that they will shut him up again. For a few days Brainard lingers. Marcus, who has fled the house, learns that his father cannot live—and the dying Brainard survives just long enough to learn that his son has hanged himself. Ogden is thus saved from disgrace; Jessie dies within a short time, and after a decent interval Ogden and Abby are married. Certainly Ogden cannot be said to be master of his fate. He is simply moved upon, like the people of Hardy, until circumstances have taken their course and his destiny is finally decided. So much for the personal element. T h e picture of Chicago, the people who made up Chicago, and their various opinions of Chicago form the most interesting feature of the book. We view the city from every angle: all its ugly newness, its sprawling developments, its teeming immigrants, its bustle and its noise. Yet Chicago rises triumphant (to its native sons) as the hope and center of the nation— a belief, a something inevitable. The Cliff-Dwellers paints a sturdy force that nothing might stem—the force that has produced the Chicago of today. There is too, the underlying motif of the social power of woman, represented by Cecilia Ingles, who is a recurrent symbol of the prestige that women desire and that men slave to achieve for them. This bitter resentment of a system that makes a man desirable on the mere basis of his financial prowess and endows a woman with the right to demand luxury as her due, is expressed again and again throughout Fuller's work. With the Procession (1895)" is, in fact, a detailed exposition of this theme. It is concerned with the rising consciousness of the Marshall family that one must keep step with the march of progress, and with their unconscious sacrifice of David Marshall that this end may be attained. Fuller does, as he had > Written at 232g Michigan Ave., Chicago, winter and spring of 1894 (about 10 months).

HENRY BLAKE FULLER p r o m i s e d , i n d i c a t e o n the first p a g e of With

43 the

Procession

the basic f e e l i n g of his n o v e l . W h e n old Mr. Marshall finally took to his bed, the household viewed this action with more surprise than sympathy, and with more impatience than surprise. It seemed like the breaking down of a machine whose trustworthiness had been hitherto infallible; his family were almost forced to the acknowledgment that he was but a mere human being after all. T h e y had enjoyed a certain intimacy with him, in lengths varying with their respective ages, but they had never made a full avowal that his being rested on any tangible physical basis. Rather had they fallen into the way of considering him as a disembodied intelligence, whose sole function was to direct the transmutation of values and credits and resources and opportunities into the creature comforts demanded by the state of life unto which it had pleased Providence to call them; and their dismay was now such as might occur at the Mint if the great stamp were suddenly and of its own accord to cease its coinage of double-caglcs and to sink into a silence of supine idleness. J a n e , the eldest d a u g h t e r of the Marshalls, is t h e p r i m e factor i n the s t r u g g l e to p l a c e her f a m i l y in t h e p o s i t i o n w h i c h she feels is d u e to t h e m b e c a u s e of t h e i r w e a l t h a n d b e c a u s e of the fact that they are n u m b e r e d a m o n g t h e f e w early settlers or " o l d f a m i l i e s " of C h i c a g o . B e c a u s e they h a v e n o t k e p t abreast of C h i c a g o ' s g r o w t h i n t h e matters of r e s i d e n c e a n d pretent i o u s business offices, they, in t u r n , are i g n o r e d by the r a p i d l y rising social lights a n d t h e m o r e a m b i t i o u s c o m m e r c i a l i s t s . Y o u n g T r u e s d a l e M a r s h a l l , w h o has b e e n l i v i n g a b r o a d for t h e past f o u r years at t h e p a r e n t a l e x p e n s e , adds his c o n t r i b u tion to the a d v a n c e m e n t of his f a m i l y by i n t r o d u c i n g the m a n of leisure to t h e city l i f e . T r u e s d a l e h a d a difficult t i m e app o r t i o n i n g his leisure a m o n g those f u n c t i o n s w h e r e a n y app r e c i a t i o n of its v a l u e was l i k e l y to b e s h o w n — f o r the backg r o u n d of the cafe, t h e salon, t h e p r o m e n a d e , all w e r e absent in C h i c a g o — a n d it was t r y i n g i n d e e d to b e d r i v e n t o seek an a u d i e n c e at an a f t e r n o o n tea. H o w e v e r , T r u e s d a l e a d d e d t h e

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atmosphere of art, of talent, and of a superior culture to the Marshall name, despite the fact that poor David would have vastly preferred something a little more tangible and not quite so superior. He had paid lavishly for Truesdale's education, and was more than a little startled to see the result of his expenditure. Rosy, the youngest daughter, completes the family forces engaged in advancing the Marshall fortunes. Launched into society by the efforts of Mrs. Granger Bates, Rosy's demands upon the parental pocketbook indicate quite clearly to David that his position is being upheld in fine style. Add to these elements the pressure of an ambitious partner for expansion, the urgings of friends for David's entry into public life through the medium of speech-making and endowments of everything from a college building to a home for working girls, united family demands for a new home in more fashionable quarters, and we have an idea of the upheaval David Marshall is called upon to face. T h a t he breaks under the strain is a foregone conclusion. Troublesome law suits, Truesdale's amorous peccadillos, bad investments, increasing expenses, and mental disturbances occasioned by the slipping away of old values are too much for David. He dies; never having fully understood the wherefore of the new Chicago's demand upon him, the clamorous insistence that he keep up "With the Procession." This, in fine, is the basic purpose of the book—the picturing of the destruction that must precede progress. With the Procession is the more integrated and convincing of the two novels, and has the added superiority of depicting more life-like characters in a situation more ordinary and natural than that of The CliffDwellers. Ogden was a poor creature at best, and his predicament was brought about entirely by his own lack of any definite ideas on anything from marriage to finances. Certainly every married man knows and every single man believes that the female must be watched with untiring vigilance lest, in her giddy way, she unbalance the careful budget evolved by the great masculine brain. But a great many men

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survive their marriages, and even seem to enjoy them. O g d e n married an unhealthy, unbalanced, immature woman and let her wear him down; whereas had she exhibited a little more decisiveness in their relations he might have helped her. His tragedy is, therefore, not of a very high order. T h e situation in With the Procession, on the other hand, exists in every generation and in every city of America. W e are all of us constantly striving to keep pace—and it is a natural thing for men and women alike to wish to signalize their economic superiority through their possessions. T h a t the Marshalls were a selfish, thoughtless family does not detract from the validity of the central theme of the book—that only upon the ashes of old things do new things rise. T h e men and women of the novel, although they creak a bit at times, are distinct types and interesting personalities. T h e o d o r e Dreiser marks With the Procession as the first piece of A m e r i c a n realism that he encountered, and considers it even now one of the best of this school. 7 M u c h has been said of the influence of Howells, both literary and personal, on Fuller. T h a t Howells valued Fuller's work highly is indicated by his review of The Cliff-Dwellers where he commends its epical treatment and Spartan grace. H e says in part: As the Trojan war transacts the Iliad, as the Franco-Prussian war transacts the Debacle, the vast twenty-storied edifice which houses them transacts the story of the Cliff Dwellers. Whether Mr. Fuller went to Homer or went to Zola for his open secret, or whether, as is much more likely, he imagined this kind of motive for himself, there is no doubt that he is like them both in it, and is of the eldest and best tradition of fiction with them.8 T o o , Howells distinguishes Susan Bates in With the Procession by including her in his Heroines of Fiction.9 That Howells believed in and encouraged Fuller there can be no doubt. In a letter written O c t o b e r 27, 1893, he says, " I am ι Personal letter to t h e a u t h o r . * Harper's Bazaar, V o l . X X V I , N o . 43 ( O c t o b e r 28, 1893), p. 883. '•> Heroir.es of Fiction. N . Y . ( H a r p e r B r o t h e r s ) : 1901, V o l . II, p p . 2.16-253.

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sure you will go on writing for it is in you and it will out. I wish you would write of Chicago whether you like it or not." In January, 1894, "With the Procession couldn't be bettered. I greeted the first twenty-four pages with cries of delight." Later, on March 14, 1909: "But what I wanted to say was that . . . it came over me that it was past the time with me to write fiction. I had a kind of sickness of the job. Is that the way you feel? I should once never have believed that I could feel so. Can't you see it is your duty to write, hereafter, my novels for me?" Surely there could be no more thoroughgoing appreciation of Fuller's talent than Howells' expressed wish to have him as successor. Fuller regarded Silas Lapham "as the great representative novel of American manners," and enjoyed The Portrait of a Lady more than any novel he had ever read (in 1896). He stated many times that Howells and James were the first strong literary influences brought to bear on him after Dickens, who was the idol of his youth and his "standard of measure" for many years.10 It is obvious, however, regardless of inspiration, suggestion, or the much-quoted "literary influences," that The CliffDwellers and With the Procession are authentic types in themselves and demand criticism on the basis of original creations. Perhaps Fuller's interest in the Chicago scene had been stimulated by the Columbian Exposition held there from May 1 to October 30, 1893. He had written several series of papers for the Chicago Record on "World's Fair Architecture," "Mural Paintings," "Minor Buildings," "Photography," and kindred subjects. Certainly the eyes of the world were focused then on that city of progress, and it is not too far fetched to surmise that much of Fuller's contrast and color may have emerged in his observation of the invasion of Chicago by the rest of the world. After completing With the Procession, Fuller left Chicago for his fourth visit to Europe, in May 1894, and remained abroad until the end of October of that year. 10 The Book Buyer, Vol. XII, No. 12 (Jan. 1896), pp. 821-822.

Chapter V Fuller's next publication was as far afield from his novels as these Chicago novels had been from The and The Chatelaine. T h e collection of short dramatic published under the title The Puppet Booth, Fuller

realistic Chevalier sketches said,

. . . had its germ in an idle dream—a dream about a young woman who was being carried away in the compartment of a railway carriage (European, of course) yet who imagined herself to be sitting quietly in her room at home. Result, the Maeterlinckian fantasy, "O, That Way Madness Lies." Here the girl, far from being on her way to an insane asylum, is not passing through a varied spectacle at all, on the contrary, the spectacle is simply shifting across her chamber window. The piece was put down on paper the next day and was printed soon after in " T h e Chap Book." 1 T h e note once struck, the mood once established and it was easy to go on. I wrote two sketches a week until the dozen were completed. T h e first sketch of them all, though considered "Pathetic" by a woman reviewer of Celtic characteristics, was held by myself to be too slight and even frivolous for inclusion in the general collection. It was only the China Nest-egg which induced the hen of Phantasy to go on with her laying. 2 In the front of Fuller's own copy of The Puppet Booth is a memorandum of the order and dates of composition of these plays. (O, That Way Madness Lies) T h e Love of Love At Saint Judas's T h e Ship Comes In Afterglow T h e Dead and Alive

(Chap Book) Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov. Nov.

1 Vol. IV, No. 2, pp. 71-80, Dec. 1, 1895. - "My Early Books." 47

1, 8, 14, 15, 16, ig, 22,

1895 " "

HENRY B L A K E F U L L E R The Story Spinner Northern Lights In Such a Night The Stranger Within the Gates The Cure of Souls On the Whirlwind The Light That Always Is

Nov. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec. Dec.

29, 3, 7, 11, 16, 19, 27,

1895 4, 8, 17, 23, 28,

Having written the volume The Puppet Booth in slightly under two months, Fuller appears to have exhausted his interest in this particular genre. One other sketch, " T h e Red Carpet," written April 26, 1896, and published for the first time in this volume, completes his dramatic ventures. T h e fantasies, as Fuller himself called them, were a result of the current interest in Maeterlinck and Ibsen. Fuller wrote with the greatest enthusiasm of Maeterlinck in a letter quoted by one of his interviewers, 3 and spoke on his work at Miss Morgan's Studios, on February 15, 1896. All the short plays of The Puppet Booth are deftly constructed, combining symbolism, aphoristic dialogue, and lush pictorial effects into quite powerful impressions. There is more than suggestion of Wilde in the highly colored imagery and delicate phrasings. Each of the sketches develops a single thought. " T h e Cure of Souls" is the symbolic picturing of the Sinner saved through Innocence—developed through a series of fantastic tableaux and sharp epigrams. "On the Whirlwind" shows through the symbol of unleashed destruction that human nature fears that which it cannot understand or control—that intelligence in advance of its time must not look for reward or comprehension. " T h e Love of Love" shows that those supposedly withdrawn from life have sometimes a greater understanding of eternal verities than those of us in the midst of life. Only the nun honors the love which has brought death for its loyalty, while the families of the dead lovers quarrel over precedence. "Afterglow" is an amusing sketch 3 Book Buyer, Vol. 12, No. 12 (Jan. 1896), pp. 821-822.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

49

of a forgotten and therefore discontented dramatist, who regains his friends and revitalizes his fame by the insertion of his own death notices in the newspapers. " T h e Ship Comes I n " is a study in suspense, showing the tragic despair of a number of villagers when their ship arrives empty—crushing their hopes of spiritual solace, of honor to be regained, of travel, of gifts, of food, of books, of money to pay long-owed accounts. T h e few short sentences allotted each character picture with terrible clarity their individual dependence upon the safe arrival of their boat—and its emptiness means a separate tragedy to each of them. " A t St. Judas's," decadent in theme and treatment, discloses the Best Man's perverted efforts to keep the Bridegroom's affection for himself. While they await the Bride in the sacristy, the story develops to the accompaniment of a positive splendor of sound and color. " T h e Light T h a t Always Is" shows that man, in his relation to woman, to his fellow man, and to his Maker, is enabled to endure things as they are through the light of what he hoped they might be. T h e ideal transcends the real, for hope is everlasting. " T h e Dead and A l i v e " is a ghostly fantasy in a cloister graveyard, where long-buried nuns are roused by a lover seeking his newly entered sweetheart. T h e y tell of the broken lives and loves that brought them to the convent, as the lover persuades the new nun to flee with him. "Northern Lights" is an Ibsenlike, morbid tale of an hereditary incendiary. " T h e Story Spinner" tells of the healing of the feud between two noble families by a story of romantic possibility but doubtful truth. " T h e Stranger Within the Gates" shows the havoc wreaked by the swashbuckler who forcibly attains his desires by the overthrow of law and order. " I n Such a N i g h t " brings together the chief characters of The Chevalier of Pensieri Vani and The Chatelaine of La Trinite with the tentative suggestion that perhaps the Chevalier and the Chatelaine may develop more than casual interest in each other. T w o of these plays, " T h e Stranger Within the Gates" and "Afterglow," were presented at the Chicago Grand Opera House, May 18, 1897, by the pupils of the dramatic depart-

50

HENRY B L A K E F U L L E R

ment of the Chicago Conservatory, under the direction of Miss Anna Morgan. On April 14, 1898, Miss Morgan presented at the Opera House Fuller's translation of Goldini's " T h e Fan" in its first American performance. The newspaper notices of both these ventures were very favorable. On December 5, 1896, Fuller set forth on his fifth European trip; this time to Algeria, Sicily, the Bay of Naples, and Italy proper. During this trip, which continued until June 1897, it is probable that Fuller did the twelve translations from the Italian which remain among his unpublished manuscripts. In view of the production of " T h e Fan" in 1898, and the notations "Milan" " R o m e " and " T u n i s " on several of these manuscripts, it seems logical to attribute these translations to this period. From Italy, too, came "Italian Fiction," * a letter of Fuller's on current Italian literature, published before his return. In October, Fuller published the first of his articles on his native city, " T h e Upward Movement in Chicago." 5 This is a sketch of the self-educational efforts, practical and aesthetic, of the community. He comments at length on the Civic Federation, the Woman's Club, the Universities, Hull House, the Libraries, the orchestra, the Art Institute, architecture, clubs, and many other activities. It is as fair and detailed a picture of the effort as was possible to Fuller, with his ironic distaste for mass "culture" and its inevitable stupidities. He has not changed his opinion of the tyranny of the American female —as witness . . the helots whose labors make possible the mental expansion of the feminine aristocracy." 8 Fuller's first volume of short stories, From the Other Side/ is made up of three previously published stories of transatlantic background, and one, "What Youth Can Do," which appears here for the first time. T h e first of these stories to be written was "Pasquale's Picture," 8 a little masterpiece of 4 Critic, o.s. Vol. X X X (May 2g, 1897), p. 364. 5 Atlantic Monthly, Vol. L X X X (October 1897), pp. 534-547. β Ibid., p. 543. ' Houghton Mifflin Co., 1898. β The Current, Vol. IV (July 1 1 , 1885).

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

51

controlled pathos. T h e tragedy of Assunta has a real dignity, enhanced by the utter simplicity and beauty of composition. T h e story in itself is simple enough. T h e young gondolier, Pasquale, has been boatman to an English photographer who has promised to take his picture. T h e whole town of Murano is agog at this honor to be bestowed on a native son, and when Pasquale's old mother, Assunta, is finally presented with the cheap commercial print before the envious neighbors, her gratitude knows no bounds. And when, a few short weeks later, the dashing Pasquale is drowned when a steamboat overruns his gondola—then indeed does Assunta bless the Providence that has moved the kind Englishman to leave her at least a likeness of her beloved Pasquale. But, alas, the kind forestieri had not taken all the pains possible in his picture for these ignorant peasants. And day by day Pasquale's face grows dimmer before the eyes of his anguished mother. Frantically she appeals to the keeper of the local bookstore to help her from his store of learning—then to the parroco, whose powers she regards as almost boundless. In uttermost despair, when these oracles fail her, she goes to the Cathedral to appeal to the Madonna. And there she is found that evening, broken and hopeless, clutching her faded brown print —bowed before the unbending gaze of the Madonna. Quite different is " T h e Pilgrim Sons," 8 a gentle satire on the thinly concealed desire of all democratic Americans to claim kinship with aristocratic English forebears. A n ocean liner is the locale of most of this story, and it is a fitting background to show that we are all climbers at heart, as well as potential snobs. " T h e Greatest of T h e s e " 10 is a picture of continental hotel gossip; the inevitable idle speculation and willingness to attribute a discreditable aura to the past, present, and future of any person so far distinguishable from the ordinary tourist as to be remarkable in any way. T h e story proper deals with the great and silent charity of a Russian gentlewoman towards an ο Cosmopolitan, Vol. X I X (August 1895), pp. 413-427. 10 Atlantic Monthly, Vol. L X X X (December 1897), pp. 762-783.

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

accidental acquaintance, a charity made greater by the fact that it is undertaken, unasked, at the cost of great mental and spiritual torture. Her husband, a political prisoner in the mines at Siberia for eight years, had died shortly after his release. Traveling in search of rest and forgetfulness, in Girgenti his wife meets a Norwegian woman and her son, who is dying of consumption induced by the sulphur mines. Despite the agony of the daily reminder of her dead husband, she stays with them until the end; nursing the boy, fighting their battles with the hotel keepers who wished to turn away the doomed boy, settling their bills; in short, assuming as a sacred duty the burden that a woman of another race would have shirked. All her fellow travelers, although ignorant of her mission of mercy, nevertheless recognized her as a woman of parts; and speculation was rife and often unfriendly and unflattering as to what her status might be. Because her somewhat iconoclastic opinions had stirred up her dinner companions at Girgenti, there was no one of them who did not view her, her antecedents, and probable behavior with suspicion and distrust. Not until the sad little episode had played itself out was the fineness of this woman revealed to one, at least, of the blithely conjecturing hotel guests. "What Youth Can Do" is the story of Piero, the gondolier, who, by virtue of his youth and good looks, so insinuated himself into- the good graces of the doddering Duchess of Dogliano, that he rose from a mere purveyer of faggots for the ducal kitchen to private gondolier, major-domo, confidential adviser, and finally to large settlements of lire before the aroused relatives could have the Duchess declared incompetent. Piero disappears from Venice with his spoils, persuades the impoverished Prince of Crassegno to adopt him; then, armed with an ancient title, marries an American heiress. By the judicious expenditure of his wife's millions, Piero then proceeds to make himself public benefactor to his little hill town of Crassegno. The admiring populace in gratitude elect him to Parliament. And there we leave the bold-eyed gondo-

HENRY BLAKE F U L L E R

53

Her—whose future conquests none can prophesy—for all obstacles are to him a challenge to his youth and confidence. From the Other Side is of no great significance save as marking publication of another volume, and illustrating again Fuller's fondness for the European scene and for the depiction of social contrasts in the tradition of Henry James. At this time Fuller was still in rebellion against the entire American scheme of things, and deeply resentful of the bustling spirit that permeated his world. Our lack of leisure and social ideals, he felt, made it impossible for art to flourish on the thin and barren soil of our intellectual activities, such as they were. 11 The task of the artist, according to Fuller, is " T h e creation and vivification of an organism that, by reason of its own inherent power, shall hold itself erect and move itself along." 12 Fuller saw many obstacles in the way of true art in America: ancestry, temperament, environment, climate, preoccupation with business, the national tendency toward exploitation of the efforts of others, and the very spirit of the ages. He paints a dismal picture. Fuller was always extremely sensitive to the more cultured and gracious gestures of existence, but even those who knew best his gentle temperament \vere amazed at the vitriolic outburst with which he greeted the Spanish-American War. He himself never mentioned The New Flag (1899) which no publisher dared to touch, but so incensed was he at the imperialistic policies, graft, and dishonesty of the McKinley administration, that he published these violent diatribes in verse at his own expense. In this slim volume, with its lurid pirate cover, McKinley, Egan, Hanna, Roosevelt, Lodge, and many minor public figures are stigmatized as everything from eunuchs to hogs. Jackasses and maggots are among the more euphemistic terms. Quotations from Lincoln, Aguinaldo, Emerson, or the Gospels embellish every page. The" verses are very bad indeed; distinguished by a frenzied violence and a 11

"Art in America," The Bookman, Ibid., p. 219.

Vol. X (November 1899), pp. 218-224.

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

low satiric quality of the type which contents itself with the hurling of bricks, rather than the rapier thrust one associates with Fuller. T h e following is a choice selection: Him, the plutocrat, behold, Panoplied in glittering gold, Man in form, in soul a beast, Hyena headed, Hanna faced. On an elephant raised high Sharp against the coal-black sky. Grinning, coarsely fleshed and gross Following a mighty cross, Nailed upon whose either side Hangs a Malay crucified— Which some Christians over civil Carry to oblige the Devil. 13 T h i s is certainly the most curious production that ever came from Fuller's pen, and it is today practically impossible to secure a copy. Of the bitterness behind the satires there is no possibility of doubt, and some go so far as to say that Fuller's anti-imperialistic sentiments were so strong, and his horror at America's action so great, that it measurably affected his career as a writer. 14 Be that as it may, Fuller had, at the turn of the century, added to his reputation of romanticist, realist, operatic composer, writer of short stories and feature articles, the further distinctions of critic, translator, dramatist of the symbolic school of Maeterlinck, the satiric school of Ibsen, and political satirist. Many a writer has exhausted the springs of original thought after fifteen years of such steady, even if diffused, production. T o o , the passage of time sometimes fixes an author as inexorably into a mold of thought as it stamps his writings into one pattern, so that his work lacks both novelty and flexibility. T h i s is emphatically not true of Fuller. He 13 The New Flag, 1899, p. 6. 1« Vide R. M. Lovett, "Fuller of Chicago," The New Republic, Vol. IX (August s i , 19*9), pp. 16-18.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

55

was always eager to attempt a new medium, and always able to bring freshness and suppleness to writings of any kind. One thing that Fuller's readers could always expect was a finished, urbane production.

Chapter VI T h e decade 1900-1910 found Fuller engaged chiefly with editorial work and the shorter forms of fiction. Although he published three volumes during this period, only one, The Last Refuge/ is a full-length novel. If one is to attempt to find the man through his writings, to read his own feelings and convictions into his characters, then The Last Refuge must be considered a commentary 011 the conclusions of Fuller's middle years. Although he spoke lightly of this book as a "decoration to fill a given space," one cannot help but feel that much of the disappointment and disillusion that had found their way into Fuller's life by this time are expressed here more spontaneously and completely than anywhere else in his work. One surmises that his last visit to Europe had failed to refresh his spirit as formerly, and that even the ageless charms of his beloved Italy had begun to pall. There is a great wistfulness in the Freiherr von Kaltenau, who seeks to recapture the zest of his youth through "the young heart, the fresh eye, the unjaded mind," through "nerves yet unblunted, imagination yet untarnished." 2 Each character of the tale is searching passionately for that land of dreams come true where all aspirations are to be fulfilled and all the bitterness of thwarted hopes is to disappear upon fulfillment. T h e plot of the story is in the romantic style of Fuller's earlier novels, and serves merely as a vehicle for the gathering of the disenchanted personnel—each in search of the Last Refuge. T h e characters do not possess the strong individuality that marked the people of The Chevalier and The Chatelaine—they are but a gathering of types. Bruno and Donna Violante represent youth; the Lady of Quality, the poet, 1 The Last Refuge, written at 2831 Prairie Ave., Chicago, Dec. 21, 1899Feb. 19, 1900. (Houghton Mifflin Co.) 1900. 2 Ibid., p. 13.

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57

t h e student, the p a i n t e r , t h e actress, t h e w r i t e r , t h e just m a n , the o l d m a n , a n d a g r o u p of t h e F r e i h e r r ' s n o b l e f r i e n d s m a k e u p the rest of t h e actors. F u l l e r ' s o w n c o m m e n t o n this b o o k e x p l a i n s t h e " g i v e n space": T h i s "Sicilian romance" had been moving about in my head for some time: for months I had had the whole mise-en-scene, and most of the minor characters; but the compact little g r o u p of principals who should step to the front and transact their little matter before the prepared background amidst the arranged accessories failed to appear. I began to get impatient. I had just been elected a member—thanks to the kind efforts (or suggestions) of Mr. Howells and Mr. Marion Crawford—of the new National Institute of Arts and Letters; and I felt prompted (though I was not admitted to the inner Academy) to write, by way of acknowledgement, an "Academy piece." O n e day the fortunate, long awaited moment came. I was doing a little business at the Old Merchants National Bank on L a Salle Street opposite the City Hall, when all of a sudden, the Freiherr of Kaltenau, and Bruno de'Brunelli and Violante degli Astrofiammanti came toward me in a shining little band and ready to perform their parts. It was nothing to snatch a casual envelope from one's pocket and then while leaning against a quiet section of a cool marble counter, to sketch out, within eight or ten minutes the "six parts,"—later the number was made seven—of which the book was to be composed. Publication followed in due course—but I think the National Institute, like the larger public, remained unconscious. 3 D i s r e g a r d i n g the story itself a n d its m o d e of c o m p o s i t i o n , consider this p i c t u r e of F u l l e r at forty-three. It is a d a n g e r o u s m a t t e r for any critic to a t t e m p t to read s u b j e c t i v e m e a n i n g s i n t o the expressions of the characters of a n y a u t h o r . B u t t h e s t r i k i n g r e s e m b l a n c e of the s e n t i m e n t s e x p r e s s e d by the Freih e r r v o n K a l t e n a u to F u l l e r ' s w e l l - k n o w n i n t r o s p e c t i v e disc o n t e n t makes t h e c o m p a r i s o n i n e v i t a b l e . His thoughts roamed back over the past eighteen years, and he could not but acknowledge, at the close of his retrospect, that the life of the Freiherr of Kaltenau had been indeed too free;— a " M y Early Books."

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FULLER

too free from ties, f r o m duties, from obligations, from restraints; too free from guidance, too free from the kindly pressure of any ordering hand. He felt himself to be too like a fluent stream for which no watchful guardian had reared the banks needed to give direction, effect, serviceableness to its course; on the contrary, he had spread himself out wide, thin, ineffective, in many directions. So far from performing the task of a respectable and selfrespecting canal, he was but in too great danger of becoming a mere succession of shallow and stagnant pools. "If I stand still for a single half hour too long," he thought, "the slime will begin to collect upon me. A n d that"—firmly—"must not be." H e felt himself at once too old and too young, too experienced and too inexperienced. H e knew some things that he should be only too glad to forget, and felt himself too innocent in certain matters that every man of his age should have familiarized himself with. L i f e had offered him a fair place at her banquet board, but he had ignored the orderly progress of her courses and had touseled her table with an impatient and conscienceless hand. T h e book of life had been opened wide before him, but he had declined to make the usual advance that leads straight on from chapter to chapter; the rather had he fluttered the leaves carelessly, glanced at the end before reaching the middle, and thoroughly thwarted the aims and intentions of the great Author. 4 T h i n g s were often more to him than men, and places more than personalities. H e had been capable of almost any height of disinterestedness, of almost any aberration of abstractedness. H e had lived in his own little world of ideas, in a fine non-human fashion; he had seldom felt the need of another's sympathetic participation in his moods, and would have made such a demand with some reluctance and with grave doubt of any satisfactory issue. 5 H e could endure the whimsical, but could not tolerate the facetious, and he had no mercy for the wrong thing done in the wrong place. 8 I have succeeded, [the writer said] I have established myself, and have position, recognition, a following. But my position is * The Last Refuge, pp. 5-6. »Ibid., p. 10. β Ibid., p. 14.

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only about so high; my recognition not completely general; my following, to confess the truth, rather limited. I ask myself why. I have almost found the answer. My participation in life has been, after all, but partial. I have always felt a slight reluctance about committing myself—a touch of dread about letting myself go. I have lived, in fact, by the seashore without ever venturing into the water. Others have gone in before my eyes, and I have recorded, to the best of my endeavor, the exhilarations they appeared to feel, the dangers they appeared to brave. But as soon as the waves have stolen up to my own toes, I have always stepped back upon the dry sands.7 I can think of scarcely a day in my life that I should care to relive. I have had few experiences that I should not be quite willing to forget.8 His best years—his good years—were past; he lived by proxy; he felt by mere secondary impact. What miracle could be expected to turn back the hands of time, to make good his general dilapidation, to string to a vigorous tension the relaxed fibre of his spirit? 9 T h e Freiherr found his "last r e f u g e " in youth, though many of his companions found it not at all. Fuller took great pleasure during his later years in advising and assisting the many younger writers who sought his criticisms. He was fond of the company of young men and relished the freshness of their enthusiasms for age-old ideas. Despite whatever dissatisfaction Fuller may have felt with his varied literary endeavors, he continued writing steadily. From 1901 to 1903 he was associated with the Chicago Evening Post—editing the book page, doing reviews and specials. He was on the editorial staff on the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post in igoo. H e was contributing a steady stream of short stories and feature articles to the better magazines; most of which were to find their way to further publication in book form in Under the Skylights, and Waldo Trench and Others. 7

Ibid., pp. 98-99.

»Ibid., p. 213.

® Ibid., pp. 226-227.

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HENRY B L A K E FULLER

Under the Skylights10 is a group of three satires upon the artistic pretensions of a culture-minded Chicago. Fuller held up to ridicule in no uncertain fashion many of the public figures and movements of the time. In " T h e Downfall of Abner Joyce" we have the impassioned veritist—the son of the soil—who rages at unearned increment and scoffs at urban niceties only to conform by gradual stages himself. And, ironically enough, as this gradual transformation is taking place, his downrightness and uncompromising condemnations wither many tender offshoots of reform among the wellmeaning urbanities who had been moved by his sincerity. Abner Joyce is clearly identified with Hamlin Garland, and to some extent, Adrian Bond represents Fuller himself, in his favorite role of onlooker. "Little O'Grady vs. the Grindstone" is a comedy of art at the mercy of social opportunism and commercial dictation. "Dr. Gowdy and the Squash" 11 satirizes the Art Academicians led by Dr. Gowdy (Dr. Gunsaulus), and confounds them out of their own mouths by having someone take them seriously, as Jared Stiles does, in expecting his famous squash to be accepted as a work of art because it depicted one of nature's eternal verities. This is perhaps the most widely known of the three stories, and it was regarded as a terrific slap at native talent, which had only to be indigenous to be art. Waldo Trench and Others 12 is another volume of short 10 New York: (D. Appleton and Co.) 1901. "Written at 28JI Prairie Ave. 28 m [words] Joyce: Nov. 10-29, '9°°> Revised Dec. 4-9. 57 m [words] O'Grady: Dec. iy-Jan. 29, 1901, Revision finished Feb. 5 1901 at 7 AM. 11 m [words] Gowdy: June, 1900." 11 Harper's, Vol. CII (January 1901), pp. 262-282. 12 New York: (Charles Scribner's Sons) 1908. "Waldo Trench Regains His Youth" July 11-19, 1906 "New Wine" April 24-May 6, 1907 "A Coal from the Embers" Aug. 29-Sept. 8, 1906 "For the Faith" Oct. 16-31, 1906 "Eliza Hepburn's Deliverance" , i8gg "Addolorata's Intervention" Mar. 19-26, 1906 " T h e House Cat" Nov. 14, 1906-Jan. 4, 1907 (Nov. 14-16; Dec. 30-31; Jan. 1-4)

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stories, previously published for the most part in magazines. Some of these stories are slight in theme and of no permanent significance, except as a further illustration of Fuller's continued contrasting of A m e r i c a n and European methods and manners. " W a l d o T r e n c h Regains His Y o u t h " 13 depicts Nebraska hot-foot on the trail of the oldest culture to be found. " N e w W i n e " tells of an abortive attempt to apply highpressure American business methods to an ancient Italian seigneury. " F o r the F a i t h " 14 presents varied forms of the American tourist, each i m b u e d with the desire to hand on the culture of the O l d W o r l d (sometimes by force) to the N e w W o r l d where it is so sadly needed. "Eliza H e p b u r n ' s Deliverance" 15 is the story of the y o u n g painter and the y o u n g musician w h o rouse the long dead romantic past of an elderly millionairess by their respective arts, only to have her slip from their grasp w h e n their revitalizing function is complete. " T h e House C a t " is the story of a middle-aged bachelor, peacefully rotting in a Florentine pension, w h o is rudely shaken u p by an enterprising y o u n g man w h o finds h i m too comfortable. " A Coal f r o m the Embers" is a light satire upon the difficulties of biographers. "Addolorata's Intervention" 16 is a pointed contrast between the popular writer and the true litterateur—and the rewards that each may garner from his work. T h e volume contains many beautiful descriptive passages, and is an excellent example of the thoroughgoing erudition Fuller brought to his writings; but one cannot but feel that it \vas an unwise g r o u p i n g of stories which presents at once so much ironical criticism and so little story. Fuller was writing short stories steadily at this period, as is attested not only by his published work, but by numerous manuscripts which he was unable to place. T w o of these, " R o s a m u n d Risks I t " and " I n W i n t e r W e a t h e r , " he mentions by name in Waldo Trench and Others and Under the Sky13 Scribner's, Vol. XLII (August 1907), pp. 231-248. n Ibid., Vol. XLII (October 1907), pp. 433-446. 1 5 Century, Vol. LIX (February-March 1900), pp. 533-544; 698-706. ιβ Scribner's, Vol. X L (December 1906), pp. 715-729.

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T h e r e are also notations of Fuller's and of his literary agent's to show that he was producing at a rapid rate. Several of these published stories are among the best of Fuller's work in this field. "Under the Crest of Shishaldin" 17 is a tale of primitive passion among the sealers of the North. Olaf Sturleson returns to his village to find Marya, his betrothed, the bride of another. He demands her husband's head. Marya, who loves Olaf, obeys him—and they sail together; but she has no tenderness from him, only passion and doubt. Through hunger, frost, the pest and mutiny she is loyal and uncomplaining, but Olaf doubts her still. T h e sealer breaks up near Shishaldin and the brother of Marya's murdered husband attempts to kill Olaf. He fails, but wounds Marya, whose time is near. When the blue-eyed golden-haired boy is born, "Marya had won her salvation and conquered his love at last. She had beaten him with the only weapon possible—his self, with all its egoism and pride." This is the only story of Fuller's which has as its central theme the love of man and woman for each other, overlaid by neither social contrast nor economic considerations. It is vital, colorful, and interesting. " T h e Life T a l e of Pearl M c R o y " 18 is another satire. Middle Falls, Pennsylvania, the home of the Thompson Iron and Steel Works, produces a genius. T h e novelized life tale of Pearl McRoy disturbs the Thompsons greatly by the publicity it brings to the town they own. T h e y try to send Pearl to Europe, but she becomes a vogue in New York, drawing on her home-town experiences for material, and drives the Thompsons to Europe instead. "Quartette" 19 is a beautifully ironic tale of the solidarity of the working-day world. Weldon comes to know the inseparable quartette about whom his luncheon companion, Cargill, has speculated, when Cargill is taken ill. T h e y appear in order, as needed—the doctor, the pharmacist, the undertaker, and the florist. Fuller continued his newspaper work on the staff of the lights.

" Everybody's, Vol. X V I (June 1907), pp. 809-815. 18 Ibid., Vol. X X I I I (September 1910), pp. 380-389. Harper's, Vol. C X X I (November 1910), pp. 934-938.

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Chicago Record Herald. H e has left a m e m o r a n d u m that in 1910—1911 he wrote about fifteen hundred editorials, and in 1 9 1 3 - 1 9 1 4 about f o u r hundred for this paper. From the very beginnings of Poetry in 1912 Fuller lent his eager support and gave unsparingly of his time and energies to make the magazine a notable success. H e was always keenly interested in any new literary venture which his fine discrimination recognized as worth while; and, although the activities of this magazine were not within his chosen sphere, a closer association with the newer forms of verse, and contacts and correspondence with the rising school of writers soon set Fuller's indefatigable adaptability to work again. Lines Long and Short20 is the result of his interest in free verse. A l t h o u g h Fuller spoke lightly of this excursion into a field far from his usual interests, he showed himself, in this volume, to be master of the technique which had flung Spoon River Anthology at a startled world. Fuller had, incidentally, been reading Masters' book aloud to his friend, Mr. Frederick Richardson, and had apparently decided to try his hand at verse portraits. B u t it was only the urging of his friends which finally persuaded h i m to get the volume together. It is interesting to note another example of the entirely adequate fashion in w h i c h Fuller analyzed the elements of different literary forms before he produced them. In " A N e w Field for Free V e r s e " 21 he discusses at length the possibilities open to the free versifier as a story teller, pointing the manifold advantages in c o m b i n i n g forms and effects. T h e free versifier [he says] can readily lay tribute upon some of the best effects and advantages of poetry—the packed thought, the winged epithet, the concentrated expression. T h e short story in free verse may be biographical, episodical, semi-lyrical. It can give in a single epithet the essence of a prose sentence, and in a single phrase the spirit of a prose paragraph. It will let you be humorous, if you can be; hortatory or pathetic if you wish to be. 20 Boston and New York (Houghton Mifflin Co.), 1917. 21 The Dial, Vol. LXI (December 14, 1916), pp. 515-517.

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The story teller in free verse "must have a ponderable theme, a straightaway continuity of thought, and a sense of form that takes heed of beginning, middle and end." This analysis is concretely illustrated by Lines Long and Short, a book published practically as a compliment to the friends whose delight in Fuller's facility persuaded him to print the verses he had written merely as an experiment. Another novel appeared the following year. On the Stairs,22 embracing the Chicago scene from 1873 to 1918, has as its theme the concurrent picturing of the self-made man, Johnny McComas, rising to prosperity and position on the tide of the times, and the vacillating dilettante of the arts, Raymond Prince, sinking slowly from an assured position in society and financial circles into a dismal obscurity. T h e fact that Johnny, the son of the Princes' coachman, eventually marries Raymond's divorced wife, and sets up his son in business, adds a touch of restrained drama to Raymond's gradual fading, which is made a final oblivion when this son, Albert, marries Johnny's daughter by a first marriage. On the Stairs, however, has interests beyond its absolute value as a novel. It was written to pattern; as an illustration of Fuller's theory of how a novel should be written. Fuller had, the previous year, stated his canon in " A Plea for Shorter Novels." 23 The novel of today [he says] should be required to bant. I believe that a novelist can say his say in 60,000 words, or even in 50,000. I believe that in 50,000 words, properly packed, he can even cover long periods of time and can handle adequately a large number of individuals and of family groups. Much of the accepted apparatus must, of course, be thrown into the discard. I would be indulgent toward the preliminary exposition, but not far beyond it. One should rule out long descriptions of personssuch things are nugatory and vain: with your best effort the reader sees only what he has seen, and figures your personage on the basis of his own experience and recollection. One must abolish set descriptions of places, unless unique, remote, unfamiliar; for the 22 Boston and New York (Houghton Mifflin Co.), 1918. 23 The Dial, Vol. L X I I I (August 30, 1917), pp. 139-141.

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65

world, in these days of easy travel and abundant depiction, has come to know itself pretty well. O n e will banish all conversation; whatever its vraisemblance to life, if it merely fills the page without illuminating it. I would sweep away . . . all laborious effort on stuff that is dragged in because someone will think it "ought to be there"—cliches, conventional scenes and situations. T o prevent sprawl and formlessness I favor a division into "books," and a division of the books into sections. T h u s articulation and proportion will be secured, as in the case of an architectural order, and one will be better able to d o w n the rising head of verbosity. . . . " R e a l art" is, and will remain, largely a matter of form, of organism, of definition, of boundaries. T h e artist will express his interest—heaven forbid that he should not; but it must be an interest disciplined by, and within, metes and bounds, an interest which shall result in a unified impression that depends much upon the time-element and on the simple counting of words. Words sometimes darken counsel; and too many of them may becloud and even wrcck artistic intention. T h i s plea against t h e formlessness a n d the verbosity so c o m m o n i n present-day n o v e l s is c o n c r e t e l y i l l u s t r a t e d by O n the Stairs, w h i c h f o l l o w s e x a c t l y t h e p l a n f o r m u l a t e d in Fuller's article. T h e n , too, a great d e a l of the b a c k g r o u n d f o r R a y m o n d P r i n c e was u n q u e s t i o n a b l y d r a w n f r o m F u l l e r ' s o w n f a m i l y life. H i s distaste for the b a n k destined for his f u t u r e e m p l o y m e n t , his i n v a l i d m o t h e r ,

his early

"scribbling,"

his o n e

a t h l e t i c a b i l i t y , r u n n i n g , his m u s i c a l b e n t , his studies i n a r c h i t e c t u r e , his s t r a i n e d eyesight, his unsocial

tendencies,

his savings for the t r i p that was to t a k e h i m f r o m the hated C h i c a g o , his father's for t h e Tribune

financial

assistance, t h e letters he w r o t e

w h i l e a b r o a d , his g r a n d f a t h e r ' s d e a t h j u s t

b e f o r e his d e p a r t u r e — t h e s e are d e f i n i t e l y a u t h e n t i c a t e d facts f r o m F u l l e r ' s y o u t h . O n e is i n c l i n e d to t h i n k that t h e g r a d u a l d i s i n t e g r a t i o n of the P r i n c e f o r t u n e , w h i c h was chiefly i n real estate, h a d its c o u n t e r p a r t too, in t h e F u l l e r f a m i l y , f o r F u l l e r c e r t a i n l y was e n m e s h e d i n a maze of c o m p l i c a t e d legal p r o c e e d i n g s a f t e r t h e d e a t h of his f a t h e r . T h e later career of

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Raymond Prince has minor points in common with Fuller's, but these represent more states of mind than biographical parallels. Fuller's next book caused a long hiatus in his career as a novelist. T h e silent disapproval which greeted Bertram Cope's Year 24 affected him deeply, and today seems almost unbelievable in view of the extreme delicacy of Fuller's handling of his theme, an irregular affection between two young men. Bertram Cope's Year concerns itself with one year in the life of Bertram Cope—a young instructor of English, studying for his master's degree at the University. He is an indeterminate sort of chap, albeit of a pleasing, if uneven, personality. He is vastly courted by a trio of young ladies, a middle-aged gentleman, and a middle-aged dowager of social position, each of whom vies for his favors with a vigor far out of proportion to the young man's deserts. Bertram, however, eludes all of them, and severs, one is left to suppose, his rather indefinite connection with a young man of markedly feminine tendencies, takes his degree, and disappears into an unstated position at an eastern university. The book is a curious production from any angle. It does not depict university life, nor the social life in a university town, although that would seem to be its intention. Fuller shows a certain familiarity with the mechanics of university life but fails to catch its spirit. He pictures the various forms of entertainment indulged in by the would-be intimates of the much-sought-after Cope, but nobody ever had a very good time at any of them. The violin-playing female who entangles Cope in an undesired engagement is not a very good violinist. The sonnet-writing female who launches her verses at his unwilling head is not a very good poetess, and the portraitpainting female who destroys her study of Cope in a rage at his flat disinterest in her is not a very good painter. T h e elderly onlooker, Basil Randolph, who wishes to cherish Cope, is continually disappointed and rebuffed by Cope's casual disregard of his advances, and Medora Phillips, the 2« Chicago (R. F. Seymour), igig.

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middle-aged widow at whose house "the girls" and Randolph forgather for meetings with the reluctant Cope, is in a state of constant dismay over the miscarriage of her little social gestures. In short, nobody accomplishes anything, and Cope becomes a more vague figure with each succeeding page. So far as the relationship between Cope and his overripe friend, Arthur Lemoyne, is concerned, it is as tentative and indecisive as the rest of the proceedings. As one reviewer succinctly states, Bertram. Cope's Year, "though filled with dynamite scrupulously packed, fell harmless as a dud . . . and Fuller's friends silenced it into limbo." 25 But the chief weakness of the novel is that it is dull and Bertram is duller. T h e story lacks a point, a progressive action, and a climax, and leaves one speculating as to its purpose. Fuller himself was so much disappointed at the reception accorded it that he burned the manuscript and proofs. Although Bertram Cope's Year is as finished in form and texture as all of Fuller's work, its plot, if such it may be called, is slight and indecisive. One might identify Fuller with Basil Randolph, the kindly onlooker who attempts to extricate the graceless young Bertram from his various complications and receives for his pains neither thanks nor recognition. In a letter to Mr. Henry Kitchell Webster (Oct. 30, 1919) Fuller says of the book: I was not exactly trying to portray social Evanston nor any one university. But I was after a sort of blend that would have a general validity quite outside of Cook County. I sure hope for a few readers in the East and elsewhere. I wrote in complete reaction from the love-flummery of Holworthy Hall, et al. Those fellows tire me. Perhaps I've gone too far the other way. While doing the job, I did think, now and then, of some of your own aberrations and perversions (Olga, Helena, et cet.)—but these in latter day society are getting almost too common to be termed "abnormal." Lots of people must have read you in unperturbed innocency, and I hope a good many 25

The Bookman, Vol. LVIII (February 1924), pp. 645-649.

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read me that way too. Certainly we are both "Innocent Kids" compared with Cabell in Jürgen. T h e novel, however, failed to be a sensation of any kind whatsoever, and Fuller determined to write no more. He was now sixty-two years of age, still a free lance, untrammeled by any ties or responsibilities, and living, in his preference for solitude, in a succession of rooming houses, where he could not be reached by telephone, and where no one would presume to call. Until a few months before his death Fuller adhered strictly to his determination to write no more novels. T h e decade of the twenties found his name appearing with increasing frequency as a reviewer in the Freeman, the Nation, the New Republic, the New York Times, the New York Herald Tribune, and kindred publications. He was particularly competent for this type of work because of his wide acquaintance with the language and literature of several nations, and his interest in, and appreciation of, form and style. He absorbed and analyzed, always, before he criticized. He was adequately equipped to employ the "touchstone" method, and his acute sensitivity to the felicitous grouping of words in his own writings made him doubly valuable as a critic of the work of others. Only a few original stories, all quite short, represented him in either periodical or newspaper. In a letter to Mr. Van Wyck Brooks 28 Fuller remarks the effect of this steady flow of reviews upon his reputation: As a result of recent contributions in The Freeman, and elsewhere, I find myself under increasing comment as a novelist at the very time when I have left novel-writing quite behind. So perversely do things go begging! It won't be so agreeable to be let alone. Another effect of these reviews was the institution of a wide correspondence with many of the authors under discussion. Fuller must have felt bitterly the irony of public 2® January 28, 1984.

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neglect when such men as Dreiser, Bromfield, Cabell, and Wilder, each hailed by his enthusiastic world, wrote to him with deference as to a past master of their common art. In the summer of 1924, by virtue of the maturation of some bonds, Fuller made his last European trip in the company of a young man, one William Emery Shepherd. Despite the changes that the years had cast over the European scene, this other world drew Fuller like a magnet until the very end. He was hoping only a few weeks before his death that his two new novels would bring in enough to enable him to cross again. In considering the long years of Fuller's literary career, some drab, some shining with success, there is no single achievement so amazing as that of the last eight months of his life. In January 1929 Fuller was seventy-two years of age; he had not written a novel for ten years. On February first, Gardens of This World was on its way to the publishers. Fuller wrote sixteen chapters in eighteen days—35,000 words —and typed them himself. In April, Not on the Screen—60-000 words—had also been dispatched. In May, Fuller was mapping out a third novel. His health was rapidly failing, and he had more than a premonition that his days were numbered. His heart had been affected for several years, and he realized as did his friends, that his allotted span must soon draw to a close. Nevertheless his death seemed sudden when it came on J u l y 28, 1929, in the midst of a prolonged heat spell. Fuller died alone, in a rooming house where he had lived for three years, and one feels that he would have preferred this solitary end who throughout his life chose to walk apart from the world about him. His two novels, published posthumously, came as a surprise to his friends. Gardens of This World, although preceding Not on the Screen by a few months, seems actually to be Fuller's farewell to the gay romancers he had so charmingly created. Gardens of This World 27 was written with the old Chicago: December 30, 1928-January 28, 1929. New York: (Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.), 1929.

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

eagerness and momentum that enabled Fuller to precipitate his subjects in such an amazingly short period of time. For years his friends had been urging another Chevalier upon him, and at last the Chevalier and the Seigneur de HorsConcours emerged from their obscurity to wander together as of yore—but, alas, in a world and in a company sadly different from that of their youth. T h e gracious Prorege of Acropia is no longer host upon the yacht that harbored such choice spirits—but Maurice de Feuillevolante, son of the once Aurelia West. No longer does the Chevalier exert himself over a few Aldines or unknown Madonnas, but now concerns himself to keep whole amphitheatres from the spoliation of American millionaires. Our Chatelaine heads a Sisterhood at Lausanne; the Freiherr von Kaltenau, more disillusioned than ever, is preparing for the end; the nephew of the Duke of Avon and Severn shows all the testiness of that gentleman without his incontestible points; so that one feels, indeed, in this world of fading personalities, that whatever we may have gained in our age of youth and speed is far from compensated by this, our loss of friends. Yet this is a purely personal reaction to the passing of the youthful Chevalier. Gardens of This World is an exquisite book, poised and graceful—a late savoring—mellow as the afternoon sun on the Mediterranean. Although Age has supplanted Youth, and the leisured world of the young Chevalier has turned into a rapidly revolving kaleidoscope whose varied facets reflect a dismayingly modern scene, yet there is a quiet humor, a tolerance of change, and a bright confidence in the youth of this new generation that gives to Gardens of This World a full-bodied tone that places it high among Fuller's works. He notes and reflects, yet does not sharply criticize, and we feel that matters are pretty certain to come right in the end. With The Chevalier, The Chatelaine, and The Last Refuge, Gardens of This World completes the cycle of Fuller's happiest, richest years—those years which yielded up to him the priceless treasures of his travels.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

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28

Not on the Screen may be taken as the final link to Fuller's novels of Chicago. While it is obviously a satire on the set formulas of the silver screen, and a definite attempt at a "popular" novel, it is also a picture of the rise of the deserving young man in the big city. Chicago is now the typical metropolis, and Embert Howell the typical bond salesman, advancing himself through typical opportunities, through the typical car and club and social contacts to the typical goal—a wife and modest affluence. Embert undergoes all the difficulties that the typical hero is obliged to meet—he is even subjected to the accusation of intimacy with the siren who is actually the mistress of his rival, Robert Sherrill. But the machinations of the villain are in vain: Embert's reputation remains untarnished; and Sherrill, discovered in shady financial transactions, lands behind bars. T h e chief characters are not well developed, and are used mainly to act out the trite situations that Fuller wished to satirize. T h e ironical and restrained handling of the perfectly developed theme militates against the interest of the story, and the insistent stressing of the average tone prevents the irony from being as diverting as it was intended. These books did not have the success expected and prophesied for them; but Fuller was spared the disappointment of this knowledge. Although he was fond of remarking that he would be ashamed if any book of his had a circulation of over two thousand copies, he would not have been human had he not desired at least that fame that comes from discussion. Yet for over forty years, whether noticed or unnoticed, Fuller was writing steadily, appearing first in one field, then in another, making notable contributions in the various schools of literature, although never quite the first to found one. He was from the beginning a finished writer, by virtue of adequate equipment; he possessed the Greek sense of form which he so highly esteemed, and the infinite 28 Written between Feb. 1, 192g and April 1929. New York: (Alfred A. Knopf), 1930.

7*

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

capacity for taking pains that is the first requisite of a polished style. An anonymous critic in " T h e Literary Spotlight" 29 has trenchantly remarked that Fuller's inability to give himself wholly to either Italy or Chicago affected his whole career. T h i s is undoubtedly true, and it is partly to this divided allegiance that Fuller owes his lack of literary fame, as the term is popularly understood. T h e reading public likes to know what to expect of its entertainers and is impatient of the unexpected. Had Anthony Hope suddenly produced Maggie, A Girl of the Streets as successor to The Prisoner of Zenda there would have been roars of rage both from the public and publishers. One must twang away on the same string until the tune is firmly established, or both the tune and the composer will be forgotten. Fuller never lacked appreciation among the discriminating, or among the influential; this is what makes his comparative obscurity so puzzling. Surely a man should need no press agent when William Dean Howells, James Russell Lowell, Charles Eliot Norton, H. L. Mencken, James Huneker, and others whose praise should make a writer, gave theirs to Fuller unstintingly. Nevertheless Fuller went out of print with unparalleled regularity, and it is now a collector's pride to acquire all his volumes. It is difficult to understand why Henry Blake Fuller does not command a larger following among those genuinely interested in American belles-lettres. T h e i r neglect is not to be explained away on the basis of his shy, retiring nature, of his reticence about himself and his work, of the difficulty of reaching any degree of intimacy with him. Anecdotes, apocryphal and otherwise, abound to stress these characteristics. Fuller refused to join the Cliff Dwellers, a club so named in his honor. In his personal copy of Miss Morgan's My Chicago,30 the leaves containing an appreciation of his work were 2» "Literary Spotlight," #27, Bookman, Vol. LVIII (February 1928), pp. 645-

649·

so My Chicago, Anna Morgan, Chicago (R. F. Seymour), 1918.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

73

pasted together. In Miss Morgan's book of tributes 31 the estimates of his friends yield the following i l l u m i n a t i n g adjectives—kind, gentle, shy, retiring, reticent, unobtrusive, frugal, fastidious, impersonal, urbane, polite, sensitive, modest, scholarly, tolerant, diffident, simple, seclusive, aloof. In other words Fuller possessed all the qualities of a cultured gentleman and none of the self-conceit and desire for self-aggrandizement that a "successful" writer must utilize to keep himself under discussion. Fuller spared no effort for the advancement of others, and gave freely of his interest and personal assistance to further his friends, whether by kindly yet trenchant criticisms, or long, laborious hours of proof-reading and gathering of exact data for their use. But he could not push himself. Since the publication of The Chevalier of Pensieri-Vani in 1890, Henry Blake Fuller has had a concrete claim to consideration as a writer of distinction. His early realistic novels of Chicago should have settled him securely under mature critical notice and in the public eye. His reputation should have been made by 1895; and all his subsequent writings weighed, discussed, and printed as the offerings of an established, successful novelist. Countless writers have forced themselves u p o n public attention and have achieved a lasting reputation with not one-tenth of the distinction and finesse that Fuller brought to his least endeavor. H e has been accused of a lack of vitality, of temper and gusto in his writings 3 -—and if this were categorically correct, it would account in great part for his failure to be a force in literature. Y e t it cannot be admitted that The Chevalier lacks either temper or gusto—that The Cliff-Dwellers or With the Procession lacks vitality. Perhaps The Chevalier has a delicacy of structure and a quaintness of incident that is not universal in appeal, yet it has a flavor seldom excelled and certainly timeless. Perhaps The Cliff-Dwellers seems dated, and With the Procession mild, in comparison with such better-known henry b. fuller, ed., Anna Morgan, Chicago. 1929. 3f Vide " T h e Literary Spotlight" # 2 7 , Bookman, Vol. L V I I I (February 1928), pp. 645-649.

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exponents of realistic fiction as An American Tragedy and McTeague. One cannot but conclude that the severest of Fuller's critics failed to take a full view of his work and to employ the absolute standard of criticism—that they allowed too much of personal preference to color their judgment. A man is entitled to write about those things which seem to him important, and he should be judged by his success in presentation rather than the preconceived notions of an individual bias. Every time Fuller changed his mood and pace, critics were ready with comparisons with his other work where no basis of comparison existed. His writings were different, but not necessarily the better or worse because they showed variety. In a broad grouping of Fuller's work, the main ideas which engrossed him emerge clearly. Confining this grouping to the fourteen volumes alone, and excluding The New Flag, there are first those laid in the European scene, with a romantic background and treatment—the stories of his own fancy—The Chevalier, The Chatelaine, The Last Refuge, and Gardens of This World. Then the larger group which form a unique and graphic picture of Chicago throughout its formative years, from the time of the "old settlers" until 1929. The Cliff-Dwellers and With the Procession through the nineties; Under the Skylights, a picture, however satirical, of the rise of artistic consciousness; On the Stairs, 1873-1918; Bertram Cope's Year, the life around a university; and Not on the Screen, the metropolis of the late twenties. This social panorama is comparable in its historical significance to Edith Wharton's novels of New York society and Ellen Glasgow's stories of the Old Dominion. The third group includes Fuller's commentaries on certain deficiencies in our civilization, contrasts this civilization in some instances with other manners, and draws illuminating portraits of its exponents. The Puppet Booth, From the Other Side, Waldo Trench and Others, and Lines Long and Short are represented in this category. Whether his material was classic or romantic, whether the dominant form of his expression was realistic or idealistic,

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whether his tone was satiric, dramatic, poetical, or critical— these were the ideas that claimed his attention. His entire literary career was devoted to the perfection of his art—the ambition that had driven him on from adolescence. T h a t he achieved the mastery of the English tongue that was his boyhood ideal no one will deny. H e possessed impeccable literary taste, subtle and delicate humor, a suave irony, a keen structural sense, and a fine distinction in form and style. H e was a writer's writer par excellence. B u t the fact remains, despite the encomiums of those who controlled the flow of critical thought, that Fuller's books had no apparent lasting effect. Again one is reminded that the bookmaker must not vary his product too much. Fuller turned from the restrained grimness of With the Procession to the symbolism of The Puppet Booth, then to satire in Under the Skylights, returned to his earlier romantic manner in The Last Refuge, spun off those excellent lives in little of Lines Long and Short, expounded a theory of composition in On the Stairs, and observed an irregular affection from a distance in Bertram Cope's Year. T h e n as a final fling at classification, he produced the serenely romantic Gardens of This World and the acid, satirically realistic Not on the Screen. H e r e was a man w h o was always writing something, yet w h o scarcely ever stirred the waters of contemporary thought, and thus f o u n d himself ignored by all but the few w h o loved good writing for its o w n sake. Y e t Fuller's personal influence was widely disseminated and definite. H i s kindly criticisms and unerring judgments are remembered with gratitude by many writers whose names are k n o w n far better than his own. Hamlin Garland valued his j u d g m e n t above any save Howells; T h o r n t o n W i l d e r pays tribute to his interest and guidance; Louis Bromfield esteemed highly his friendship and their correspondence on the m a k i n g of books; T h e o d o r e Dreiser is indebted to With the Procession for his first encounter with American realism —and n o one will know the full extent of Fuller's assistance and encouragement to aspiring young writers.

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Fuller's position in American literature is no easy matter to define. T h e classic simplicity, the effortless precision and grace of his writing place him, as a stylist, on a par with George Moore. T h e seemingly unlimited ability to express his ideas through whatever medium attracted him finds him with no contemporary equal in versatility. His most notable contribution to American letters is not the timeless delight of The Chevalier and The Chatelaine, not the pictured era of The Cliff-Dwellers and With the Procession, not fantasy, or verse, or satire. It is this: Fuller strove through shifting literary trends, among innovations that set the world of books awhirl, among perhaps the most chaotic upheavals of form and manner that American literature has yet known, to uphold the dignity and tradition of fine \vriting, strove never to fall below the high standard of excellence he exacted of himself and of others. In this he succeeded. He did not sway the literary world, he started none of the movements to which he contributed, nor can he be definitely classified as belonging exclusively to any one of them; no startling critical dicta came from his pen, nor did he ever write a "best seller." He persevered until the end in one thing only: by precept and example to raise high the standard of his craft. He had no patience with power unaccompanied by polish, or with vigor beyond the bounds of form. He was, like his own Chevalier, an aristocrat of fiction, and as such will he be remembered by the select circle of readers that he has made his own.

The Red Carpet Dramatis THE

Personae

JOURNALIST

T H E CYNIC T H E RADICAL THE

GOVERNESS

THE

SEMPSTRESS

T H E MASTER a n d MISTRESS OF THE HOUSE T H E MAGNATE a n d h i s W I F E

Many other GROOMS a n d

GUESTS FOOTMEN

O F F I C E R S OF THE L A W

numerous and varied. The foot pavement before a wide-fronted mansion that looks out through tall iron grilles upon a city street. It is an evening in November. Λ Red Carpet, canopied by a striped awning and more or less illuminated by the street lamps, runs down the steps of the house and ends at the curbstone. T H E P O P U L A C E crowd round the flapping sides of the awning to catch a glimpse of airivitig guests, or cling to the chill and gilded grilles in an endeavor to penetrate the score of brightly lighted windows that fling out a flaring sense of triumphant hospitality.

T H E POPULACE, SCENE:

T H E G O V E R N E S S (to T H E S E M P S T R E S S ) : Come, let us move on; we have stood here too long already. T H E S E M P S T R E S S (shivering, as she draws her shawl up round her throat): Yes, let us move on. (But she does not stir.) T H E G O V E R N E S S : Come along, then. It is too raw and cold for you. You are shivering. Your cough is growing worse. Y'ou must take better care of yourself. T H E S E M P S T R E S S : Shivering? Coughing? I had hardly noticed. Perhaps you are right. Yes, let us move on. (But she does not stir.)

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8

H E N R Y BLAKE F U L L E R

Come, come, then. These people—they are nothing to us. Their dresses—you can choose a better time and place for such a study. Come; the glare overhead makes you look like a ghost. T H E S E M P S T R E S S (absently): These people? Their dresses? Yes, we will leave all that for another occasion. T H E G O V E R N E S S : Come home with me, then. How much longer do you mean to go on like this, clutching the flap of the awning with a stiff blue hand and looking up at that door as if it were the gate of Paradise? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : My hand? Is it blue?—The gate of Paradise? It was the gate of Paradise for me—once. For the twentieth time the clatter of hoofs, the slamming of carriage doors, the shouts of attendants, and the passage of arriving guests over the Red Carpet. One stately woman, in her progress from coach to house, drops unwittingly a red rose upon it. Two urchins, encouraged by the laughter and applause of the bystanders, contend for it. More laughter as their heads bump together; for they can hardly see the flower—the Carpet itself is so RED. T H E G O V E R N E S S : T h e gate of Paradise? I found it more like the entrance to the other region! Those children!—three months of them was quite enough. But what could one expect, their parents being such as they are? T H E SEMPSTRESS (between a cough and a choke): Three months? How much even three minutes would mean for me! T H E G O V E R N E S S : What are you saying, Pauline? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : I should like to see the inside of this house. T H E G O V E R N E S S : Nonsense! You are above that, I hope. T H E SEMPSTRESS (softly, as if to herself): I should like to see the inside of this house—once more. T H E G O V E R N E S S : Once more? Have you seen it already? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : I sewed here, one day. T H E GOVERNESS: And was not that one day enough? How much of their arrogance, their insolence have you a stomach for?—Come, come; let us go on. We are poor, true, but we may guard our selfrespect. Why do you wish to linger here, along with these unkempt children, these draggle-tailed women, these cheap and dirty parkloungers? T h e longer we linger the louder we announce our own cheapness. Come. T H E GOVERNESS:

T H E RED C A R P E T

79

S E M P S T R E S S : T h e r e was n o insolence, no arrogance. T h e y were civil; they were kind. THE

Civil? Kind? H o w long ago was this, pray? years. T H E G O V E R N E S S : A h l T w o years! T h a t is a different thing. It was before the old family went out, then. Yes, that is a different thing. T H E S E M P S T R E S S : It was only a month before the father died. T H E G O V E R N E S S : A n d before the son— T H E GOVERNESS:

T H E SEMPSTRESS: T W O

(hastily): Never m i n d . — T e l l me: there was a large square room, with a bow-window, on the second floor. D o you remember it? T H E G O V E R N E S S : Indeed I do. It was my schoolroom. Let me forget it—if I can! W h a t was it in your time? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : A bedroom. I sewed in it. I and my work were crowded into it during house-cleaning. H o w is it papered now? Is the same fireplace . . . ? T H E G O V E R N E S S : A bedroom? Whose? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : T h e — t h e son's. T H E G O V E R N E S S : A h ! the son's. I have heard of him and his ways. H e was not his father. The crash and clatter of more arriving guests. One of them, in traversing the Red Carpet, loses a knot of red ribbon from her corsage. Two slovenly little girls contend for it viciously. In their uncertain passes at it they clutch each other's hair and scratch each other's faces; for they can hardly see it—the Carpet itself is so RED. They pull the rosette apart before the footmen can pull them apart. T H E R A D I C A L (on the opposite side of the awning): Hurrah for you, children! T a k e whatever you can from them, and fight for everything on equal terms! T H E SEMPSTRESS

(at his elbow): A n d fight the hardest, children, for the least important things! T H E R A D I C A L : Wreck everything you touch, children, but see that you get your share! T H E C Y N I C : T h e r e will be a greater wreck than that here tonight. I have come to see it. T H E R A D I C A L : A n y t h i n g for a change. N o change could be for the worse.—But how do you mean? T H E C Y N I C : T o n i g h t ' s crush— T H E R A D I C A L : Crush, yes; that is what they call it. THF. CYNIC

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H E N R Y BLAKE F U L L E R

am here to view it. We have already seen the earthen pot crush the porcelain pot. And now we are to see the iron pot crush the earthen pot. It will do so, infallibly. T H E R A D I C A L : And the man who began in a stable will end in a prison? T H E C Y N I C : As he deserves. For he is a scoundrel. But there is a bigger scoundrel behind him. He will need a bigger prison than has ever been built. T H E R A D I C A L : Will it be built? T H E C Y N I C : T h e biggest one has been built that will be built, I think. T H E R A D I C A L (shivering): It is colder here than any prison could be. T H E C Y N I C : Let us warm ourselves, then. Here is the only comfort, save a gratified revenge, that the world holds for us. May it keep us warm till the h o u r of revenge arrives. He draws a flask from his pocket, and the two drink from it. The flask is filled with a red liquor. They spill a part of its contents upon the Red Carpet; but no one notices, and no trace of it is left there—the Carpet itself is so RED. T H E R A D I C A L : Yes, he was born in a stable. Not only in a stable, but in that stable. ( H e points to one side.) T H E C Y N I C : In that stable? T h e r e , behind those grilles? T H E R A D I C A L : Yes. And played among the stalls and mangers with the children of the house. Now, within a year or two of the old man's death, he is in the house himself. T o n i g h t is his time of triumph.—See! he is there at the window, now. T h e r e is your earthen pot. ( T H E M A S T E R O F T H E H O U S E , a man of thirty, appears for a moment at one of the lighted windows.) T H E C Y N I C : I know that face—yes. I have seen it elsewhere, too. In his office. My fortune went, and many others with it. He and his peers are enjoying it today. T H E R A D I C A L : You took your chances. You expected something for nothing. T H E C Y N I C : Y O U yourself expect something for nothing. T H E R A D I C A L : A something that is my right; a something that has been taken from me and my kind. T H E C Y N I C : I too have had my losses, I tell you, and his have been the gains. Let me but see him ruined, and those losses I can the better endure. T H E CYNIC: I

T H E T H E RADICAL:

—Look.

R E D

C A R P E T

81

He seems prosperous, yes. But does he seem happy?

Happy? No. Why should anyone be happy in such a world as this? T H E R A D I C A L : Does he look content? T H E C Y N I C : N O . T h a n k heaven that he docs not. T H E R A D I C A L : Does he even look safe? T H E C Y N I C : Safe? I have already told you. He is in danger. He knows it. He is consumed by anxiety. He is at his wits' end. He is trembling on the verge of ruin. T H E R A D I C A L : Knows it? And why not? Why indeed should he not have known it long before? He is clever and daring and unscrupulous, but does a man of his age make such a success unaided? T H E C Y N I C : Unaided? No. Through association, cooperation. You are coming to an understanding of it. T H E R A D I C A L : I am no man's fool. Let him be clever and daring. But there are others more so. And even more unscrupulous. He associates himself with them; he participates in their success; he thinks it his own. But— T H E C Y N I C : But they have been merely using him. There comes the day when Justice cries, and some one must be sacrificed. There is a scurrying for cover, and he is the one—he—to be thrown to the wolves. T h a t is to be done and to be done tonight. And I have come to see it done. Another carriage drittes up to the curbstone. Amidst the eclat of mere materialities and the ignoble prostrations of T H E P O P U L A C E , T H E M A G N A T E and his W I F E arrive and pass along the Red Carpet to the house. At the lowest step a blood-red jewel falls from the woman's throat, nothing but its setting of gold enables the attendants to find it and to return it to her—the Carpet itself is so RED. T H E C Y N I C : There he goes. T e l l me, was there in his face any fear, any hesitancy, any—mercy? Now you shall see the iron pot crush the earthen one. T H E R A D I C A L : But where is the porcelain one? T H E C Y N I C : Thrown, doubtless, on the refuse-heap long ago. T h a t young Gustave—he was not his father. T H E R A D I C A L : Where did he fail? T H E C Y N I C : He was a weakling, like all rich men's sons. He had T H E CYNIC:

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

no shoulders to bear the burden of a great estate. He was too superfine, too self-indulgent. He was a dilettante who could never descend to the practical things of life—a painter, a musician, a versifier . . . He was unable to guard his own; one short year saw his confusion and downfall—and the man who has stepped into his place was the chief instrument of it. THE RADICAL: How did he ruin him? THE CYNIC: How did he ruin me? False hopes, false promises, a close sailing in the teeth of the law, the diabolical guidance of older heads . . . But he is to pay the price, too. THE RADICAL: T u r n and turn about: what could be fairer? The house is in full fete. The last guests have arrived. At a dozen lighted windows the shifting of animated shadows signals the climax of the function to the eyes of the street, and the swell and swing of music correspondingly addresses its ears. THE GOVERNESS: Come, come, Pauline, we must not stand here a moment longer. You are chilled through; your cough has become something terrible. T H E SEMPSTRESS

will go.

(in a shiver): Just a moment more, and then we

advances along the foot-pavement and pauses hesitating in the shadow of the awning. He gives T H E POPULACE an inch and they forthwith take an ell. A N O L D W O M A N (at his elbow): Ah, here he is—the latest guest. Late, but not too late. ANOTHER (her shawl over her head): By no means.—He comcs on foot, but he is welcome, all the same. T H E JOURNALIST (to himself, heedless of his company, as he lays a trembling and irresolute hand upon the flap of the awning and views the vestibule of the house with an expression of unconquerable repugnance): I cannot do it. I cannot do it. A SHARP L I T T L E B O Y : Oh, yes, you can, sir! Steady, steady, and up the steps you go. You can carry one more glass yet, and you will find it at the top. A FORWARD L I T T L E G I R L : Of course you can, sir. Come, unbutton your overcoat and smooth down your white tie. Never tell us that you dressed for nothing. T H E GOVERNESS (to T H E SEMPSTRESS): What is the matter with you, Pauline? Why are you hiding behind me? Why are you shaking as if you would shake yourself to pieces?

T H E JOURNALIST

T H E RED CARPET

83

S E M P S T R E S S : H e must not see me. A n d he looks so pale, so wretched that I can hardly bear to see him. T H E G O V E R N E S S : Him? W h o is it? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : It is he. It is Gustave. H e must not see me here and now. T H E G O V E R N E S S : See you? How many times has he seen you? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : Only once—only that once. T H E G O V E R N E S S : A n d for how long, pray? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : Only for a moment—a moment. T H E G O V E R N E S S : A n d did he speak? T H E S E M P S T R E S S : Only a word—only a careless word or two. T H E G O V E R N E S S : A n d why must you pant? Why must you put your hand upon your heart? Come, this is too much; you are foolish, you are absurd. Is it upon that one word that you have been living for the past two years? T H E S E M P S T R E S S (pitifully): One must live upon something. T H E J O U R N A L I S T (still oblivious to his surroundings): I can never do it. I can never do it. A Y O U N G L O U N G E R : Oh, yes, you can, sir. Will you give up the game as early as this? A N O T H E R (ironically soothing): Will you disappoint your hostess in such a fashion? Be a good guest;—go up. A P E R T Y O U N G W O M A N : " G u e s t " is good. I see a notebook and a pencil sticking out of his pocket. He is that kind of a guest. T H E C Y N I C (craning his neck over the heads of the crowd)·. It is the son himself. It is Gustave indeed. A n d the notebook is there, as that girl says. T H E R A D I C A L : And they have sent him to celebrate this triumph? T h a t is turn and turn about, most truly. T H E J O U R N A L I S T (sinking in the depths of an irresolute shame): I cannot do it; I cannot do it! I would rather die than do it! T H E S E M P S T O E S S (her face in her hands, her body convulsed): To send him here for this!—oh, cruel, cruel shame! T H E G O V E R N E S S : It is cruel; it is a shame! (In alarm.) Are you dizzy, Pauline? Are you going to faint? T H E C Y N I C (loudly): Why does he wait? Why does he hesitate? He knows the place; he knows the people. Who better could celebrate their glory? T H E R A D I C A L (roughly): Come, young man; straddle the ditch without delay. A n d then step back and tell us, poor outcasts, what THE

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FULLER

lies u p o n the other side. It is we, after all, for w h o m you w o r k ; it is we w h o are your masters. (THE JOURNALIST summons his forces and passes up the Red Carpet and through the front doors.) THE SEMPSTRESS (with a sympathetic sob): T o go—thus—into his old home! T o pass—at such a time—through the old familiar rooms! THE GOVERNESS: L e t us hope he will find them changed beyond recognition. THE SEMPSTRESS: A n d to face—in such a part—his old circle of friends, of family acquaintances! THE GOVERNESS: L e t us hope he will not find all of them changed beyond recognition. THE SEMPSTRESS: T h e y are not here! T h e y cannot have come! THE GOVERNESS: Few of the best of us can stand out against success. THE RADICAL: In he goes. B u t why did he come? For what purpose have they sent him? THE CYNIC: T h e r e is room, truly, for more reasons than one. T h e next few moments may b r i n g him some compensation. Such a thing has been k n o w n to be—even in such a world as this. THE OFFICERS OF THE LAW, with little economy of sound and fury, arrive suddenly at the lower end of the Red Carpet. Amidst the acute interest of THE POPULACE, they pass up with the assured directness of conscious power. THE CYNIC: I was right. O p e n your ears. T h e crash is preparing. THE RADICAL: I am h o p i n g for the best,—for the worst, I mean. A YOUTH IN THE CROWD: B r i n g h i m o u t , officer!

ANOTHER: B r i n g them all out, officer! As THE OFFICERS pass in, THE JOURNALIST comes out. Half dazed and wholly shamed, he feels his way blankly down the steps, while his hands fumble with a nervous desperation through his pockets. THE SEMPSTRESS (clutched by a dreadful spasm of coughing)'. O u t so soon! W h a t insult . . . what indignity . . . ? THE GOVERNESS: His face! His face! So wild, so pale, so drawn! THE RADICAL (calling up to THE JOURNALIST): T u r n back! turn back! O n l y wait!—a moment's time, a moment's patience . . . ( T o THE CYNIC.) I find myself on the poor fellow's side, after all. THE CYNIC: A n d I. (To THE JOURNALIST, whom he would impel back through the dooi~way by a vigorous thrusting forth of both hands.) Return, return! Something is preparing for your pleasure,

T H E RED CARPET

85

—for yours, as well as ours. Await itl View it! Note it! (With a great cry.) A-ah! For T H E J O U R N A L I S T , with a non-comprehending look compounded of shame, indignation and torment direct in the faces of the two men, has snatched a knife from his pocket and drawn it across his throat. He falls face downward upon the lowest step, and lies there in a pool of his own blood. But no one sees it—the Carpet is so RED. T H E S E M P S T R E S S (half strangled by her cough, as she attempts to push forward through the crowd): Gustave! Gustave! Blood gushes from her mouth and nostrils, as she chokes and sways and falls by the yoxing man's side. But it is tiot visible, save on her bosom—the Carpet is so RED. A N O L D W O M A N : IS she his wife? A Y O U N G O N E : IS she his sweetheart? A MAN: IS she his—? T H E C Y N I C : Silence! For shame! The doors of the house are flung open—T H E M A C N A T E and his W I F E descend, enter their carriage and drive away. T H E R A D I C A L : Ah, such power, such cruelty, such insolence! T H E G O V E R N E S S (glancing indignantly after the departing carriage): A n d such heartlessness! T h e y all but trod upon my poor girl's hand. The doors open once more. T H E M A S T E R OF T H E H O U S E appears, struggling between T H E O F F I C E R S OF T H E L A W . His W I F E , attired as befits the function, appears behind him. The amazement of many crowding guests is transmitted through the exclaiming POPU L A C E to the grooms and footmen waiting in the street. T H E C Y N I C (bending overTHE J O U R N A L I S T ) : Poor fellow! he should have lived for this. Ay. His right was no less than yours or mine. shakes himself loose from T H E O F F I CERS, snatches a pistol from his pocket, and presses its muzzle against his temple. There is an instant report and he falls dead upon the topmost step. But no blood is seen, save for stains upon his shirt-front—the Carpet is so RED. T H E C Y N I C : T h e earthen pot is crushed. T H E R A D I C A L : Only the iron one remains whole. T H E M I S T R E S S O F T H E H O U S E , with a loud shriek, falls fainting beside her husband. She strikes with her forehead upon the edge of a T H E RADICAL:

T H E M A S T E R OF T H E H O U S E

86

HENRY

BLAKE

FULLER

step. Blood gushes forth; but, save for one bright splotch upon her gown, no traces show—the Carpet is so RED. T H E GOVERNESS (bending over T H E SEMPSTRESS): Pauline! Pauline! T H E SEMPSTRESS (faintly): Yes, I am alive; but I shall be dead before tomorrow comes. T H E R A D I C A L : Well, let the victims be borne away, the guests dismissed, the crowd dispersed, and— T H E C Y N I C : —and the Red Carpet rolled up and carried off to other festivities. T h e world is full of bleeding wounds that leave no stain.

Carl Carls en's Progress (Written

between

1896 ir

190J)

When Carl Carlscn fell heir to the broom, shovel and push-cart that had so long been familiar to the wide smooth stretch of Laplaine Avenue— But let the chorus precede the protagonist—in this case a chorus of millionaires, nothing less. T h e householders along Laplaine Avenue, then, liked to be clean, and as they were all persons of abundant means cleanliness, despite smoke, grime, dust and official neglect, was within their reach: none could criticize their persons, their premises, or even their street. This last was paved with asphalt, and as the city authorities did nothing in recognition of the civic decencies, the neighbors clubbed together (though they were as good as strangers for most other purposes) and kept things tidy by private subscription. They had put matters into the hands of a certain Hans Hansen, and Hansen had collected a dollar a month from each of them for the past two years, during which time he had lived along rather skimpingly in an old frame shanty on some back street or other near by. Now Laplaine Avenue, seen from the right point of view and handled—or worked, as one might say—yes, worked by the right man in the right way, would have been a gold mine. But Hansen was not the right man. Anyone capable of turning to account that monthly round among a half hundred millionaires would have seen the roadway paved with half eagles that were merely waiting to be shoveled up. Hansen, however, was but a simple, limited, literal fellow who saw only what he saw and to whom the primroses that strewed his asphalt mead were primroses and nothing more. He confined himself, therefore, to wielding his broom and pushing his cart and sending in his modest monthly bill, while the tow-headed little Hansens became more numerous 87

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HENRY BLAKE F U L L E R

and more shabby and their rooftree lapsed still more deeply into decay. " E t iss no goot," said Hansen to his wife, one day. "Ay tank Ay move." He sold out his business, went off with his family and his accent, and the next month's bills were presented by his successor, Carl Carlsen. Carlsen was a different sort. He had the work done by an underling, whom he directed from the curb, and if any of his patrons happened to pass along he would bow politely—doubly so if they were ladies. He presented his bills in person, instead of having them left, as Hansen had often done, by one of the children (for the little Carlsens were numerous too); and he always had speech with master or mistress, if possible, rather than with footmen or maids. T h i s was possible oftener than one might have imagined, and it was thought that Carlsen laid out something on the servants now and then to make it so. But this cost him little, or it may be nothing; for Carlsen was an attractive and likable fellow with considerable capacity for ingratiation. He had brought a trim and gallant way with him from the Old World, where he may have had some opportunity of rubbing up against the great; he possessed the fascination that may be exercised by a man who, while married and the father of a family, still carries himself with the engaging freedom of a bachelor; and he was old enough or young enough for anything, being thirty-two. No, this is not to tell how he engaged the interest of little Mariette Peabody—nothing of the sort. His object was quite different. Before everything else he was a husband and a father, and he kept his family in mind, as he should have done. He meant to do the best he possibly could for them, and he designed that his millionaires should help. First of all he must establish his identity, must take steps to make himself apprehended as an individual. He understood how hard it is to get people to feel an interest in you unless they know something about you; so on his opening round of calls he stated the main facts: where he lived, how much of a family he had, and the like. Everybody seemed impelled to listen. T h e n he proceeded to show his family—or specimens of it. T h e

CARL CARLSEN'S PROGRESS

89

ladies, r e t u r n i n g f r o m their Saturday m o r n i n g m a r k e t i n g (several of them still clung to the primitive practice of earlier days), would find three or f o u r little towheads playing a b o u t h i m with d u e decorum. T h e youngsters were u n d e r very definite instructions: they were always to be q u i t e clean a n d respectful; they were not to mingle too freely w i t h the stable children w h o sometimes sallied forth f r o m the alley a n d took the street for a private p l a y g r o u n d ; least of all were they to flounder a b o u t o n disabled roller-skates or go w h o o p i n g along at a gallop in soap-box carts. " T h a t w o u l d r u i n us," said their father. O n Sundays h e b r o u g h t f o r w a r d his wife, a slim, light-complexioned woman, whose back ran in one straight line f r o m her head to h e r heels a n d whose m i n d was q u i t e h u m b l e a n d directable. T h e n the whole family w o u l d stroll u p a n d d o w n the two long blocks that f o r m e d his province, a n d Carlsen himself, whenever he saw the face of a p a t r o n at a f r o n t window, would e x p a t i a t e openly a n d with a b u n d a n t gesture on the magnificence of the neighborhood a n d the g r a n d e u r of its i n h a b i t a n t s . In brief, the Carlsens became k n o w n . A n d with every succeeding m o n t h they became better known, for Carlsen was n o less a master of m a n n e r t h a n of the science of cumulative detail. H e h a d a p r o m p t c o m m a n d of language too, and could jolly with the best. T h e children were the first to get the benefit of all this. Before long they were praised for their sweetness a n d nice manners, a n d now a n d again impulsive magnates w o u l d present t h e m with dimes a n d quarters. " I t shan't stop there," said Carlsen. It d i d n ' t . " T h o s e d e a r little things!" Mrs. Peabody was o n e day moved to exclaim on coming in f r o m the street. Mrs. Peabody lived in the Maine g r a n i t e chateau with the red-tiled candleextinguisher roofs. " W h y doesn't Mariette get t h e m for h e r kindergarten?" asked her sister-in-law. "Better hurry, then!" declared Grace, of the short skirts a n d the black spindle-legs. "Clarice Griswold is trying to c a p t u r e t h e m for her sewing-school." It was O c t o b e r a n d society's p h i l a n t h r o p i c activities were well u n d e r way. " T h a t Griswold girl!—she sha'n't have t h e m ! " declared Mariette. " I will h u r r y ! " She went r o u n d to the Carlsen house at once. " T h e neatest place

go

HENRY BLAKE

FULLER

in the world!" she reported enthusiastically to her mother. "And his wife so respectful, and he himself so—so—" " W e l l , never mind, Mariette," observed her mother. B u t the Griswold girl got the best of the bargain. 'Gusta and Milka and ' T r u d e went to the sewing-school. T h i s left only E m i l for the kindergarten. Paul was too large and the baby was too small. December came; Christmas was but a fortnight away. Carlsen bought a plow—a notion that had never occurred to the more limited Hansen. T h e first big snowfall came on the twelfth; on the thirteenth the street was as practicable as if nothing had happened. Griswold pere (brown stone with plenty of galvanizediron baywindows) pressed two dollars into Carlsen's hand and told him he was a genius, and Lavinia Peabody impulsively sent his wife a forty-five-dollar dress that was almost as good as new. Carlsen took care that the Peabodys should know what the Griswolds had done for him, and that the Griswolds should know what the Peabodys had done, and that the Gunns and the Tuckers and even the Days at the extreme end of his beat should know what both had done. " T h e y shall all do something," declared Carlsen; "and those that have done something shall do something more." T h u s , about the eighteenth, Mrs. Peabody was moved to observe: " I suppose we ought to do something for those Carlsen children. . . . " " B e t t e r hurry, then," said Grace, "or—" " O r n o t h i n g ! " cried Mariette, spunkily. " T h e y shall have just as good things as J o h n ' s own children out in the stable—or better," she declared. " A n d they shall come to see our tree—and their father and mother too!" B u t the Carlsens declined. T h e y were kept at home by their own Christmas tree, contributed by the Griswolds. And as for the dolls sent in by the Days—well, they simply passed belief. " T h a t Clarice Griswold!—I could spat her face!" cried Mariette. "And Margie Day's t o o ! " Late in the spring Carlsen presented himself at the Griswold's. H e submitted that school was nearly over and that Paul was old enough to go into business: he wanted to get him into some office, he said.

C A R L CARLSEN'S PROGRESS

91

G r i s w o l d was a stockbroker and had a new boy once a week. " W h a t ' s one more?" he thought; and in Paul went. " A n d you're to stay in too." said his father, " o r I'll know why. I never had such a chance as you are having. Hold on to it." Mariette, on hearing of this, went off the handle. " T h e y ' r e beating us at every point, those Griswolds! I want that oldest Carlsen girl f o r a m a i d . " " M a i d ! " quizzed Grace. " W e l l , she can do something—she can help around one way or another." So in 'Gusta Carlsen came. On the Fourth of J u l y Carlsen set off the fireworks for the Griswolds, and the three or four youngest of his children sat in a row on the lowest of the Griswold's front steps. T h e street had not seen the j o b so well done for years. T h e Peabodys, w h o had tried to send off their own pin wheels and rockets, made a fizzle of it. O l d Mr. Peabody, who was usually pretty good natured, quite lost his temper. " T o m , " he cried to his son, " y o u ' r e a d u f f e r . " A n d then, under his breath, as he caught a glimpse of Carlsen, on the opposite curbstone, brandishing a R o m a n candle in each hand: " I ' l l get a final grip on that fellow, or know w h y . " N e x t day he sent for Carlsen and made him an offer. Peabody, Weebody and Co. were wholesale grocers and did their own teaming. " Y o u can manage something better than plows and rubbishcarts," said Peabody, Sr. " T a k e hold of our stables and manage them." N e x t evening the Griswold's brown stone was m a p p e d in gloom. ( T h e family had gone to Mackinaw for the summer.) L a p l a i n e A v e n u e is now kept tidy by Nels Nelsen. He is much like H a n s Hansen.

Bibliography HENRY BLAKE FULLER NOVELS AND COLLECTIONS: The Chevalier of Pensieri-Vani (Pseud. "Stanton Page"), Boston (J. G. Cupples), 1890. 2nd ed., New York (The Century Co.), "Henry B. Fuller," 1892. The Chatelaine of La Trinite, New York (The Century Co.), 1892. The Cliff Dwellers, New York (Harper & Brothers), 1893. With the Procession, New York (Harper 8c Brothers), 1895. The Puppet Booth, New York (The Century Co.), 1896. Contains: T h e Cure of Souls On the Whirlwind T h e Love of Love Afterglow T h e Ship Comes In At Saint Judas's T h e Light T h a t Always Is T h e Dead-and-Alive Northern Lights T h e Story-Spinner T h e Stranger Within the Gates In Such a Night From the Other Side, Boston (Houghton Mifflin & Co.), 1898. Contains: T h e Greatest of These What Youth Can Do T h e Pilgrim Sons Pasquale's Picture The New Flag (Privately printed), 1899. The Last Refuge, Boston (Houghton Mifflin & Co.), 1900. Under the Skylights, New York (D. Appleton & Co.), 1901. 92

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Waldo Trench 1908.

93

Contains: T h e Downfall of Abner Joyce Little O'Grady vs. T h e Grindstone Dr. Gowdy and the Squash and Others, New York (Charles Scribner's Sons),

Contains: Waldo T r e n c h Regains His Youth New W i n e A Coal from the Embers For the Faith Eliza Hepburn's Deliverance Addolorata's Intervention T h e House Cat Lines Long and Short, Boston (Houghton Mifflin 8: Co.), 1 9 1 7 . On the Stairs, Boston (Houghton Mifflin & Co.), 1918. Bertram Cope's Year, Chicago (R. F. Seymour), 1919. The Fan (Goldini), tr. Henry Blake Fuller, New York (Samuel French), 1925. In Clark, B. H „ ed., World Drama, Vol. II. 1933. The Coffee House (Goldini), tr. Ilcnry Blake Fuller, New York (Samuel French), 1925. Gardens of This World, New York (Alfred A. Knopf), 1929. Not on the Screen, New York (Alfred A. Knopf), 1930. ESSAYS AND SHORT STORIES: "Addolorata's Intervention," Scribner's,

Vol. X L (December 1906),

PP· 715-729Waldo Trench and Others, igo8, pp. 2 6 1 - 3 0 5 . "Afterglow," in The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 53-70. "American Image, T h e , " Poetiy, Vol. X V (March 1920), pp. 3 2 7 331· "America's Coming of Age," Neio York Times

Book

Review,

May

3- ^ δ · "Americanization of Europe's Youth," New York Times Magazine, January 25, 1925, p. 15. "Aridity," New Republic, Vol. V I I (May 6, 1916), pp. 1 7 - 1 8 . Lines Long and Short, 1 9 1 7 , pp. 2 1 - 2 7 . "Arid Life of J o h n B. Hill, T h e , " Current Opinion, Vol. L X I (July 1916), p. 58. Lines Long and Short, 1 9 1 7 , pp. 21-27: "Aridity."

94

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

"Art of Life," Νew Republic, Vol. VII (June 10, 1916), pp. 148-149. Lines Long and Short, 1917, pp. 1 1 1 - 1 1 8 . "Art in America," Bookman, Vol. X (November 1899), pp. 218224. "At St. Judas's," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 87-99. "Chatelaine of La Trinite, The," Century Magazine, Vol. X L I V (June-October 1892), pp. 232-234, 427-440, 549-560, 732742, 929-939. "Chicago," Century Magazine, Vol. L X X X I V (May 1912), pp. 25-33· "Chicago's Book of Days," Outlook, Vol. L X I X (October 5, 1901), pp. 288-299. "Cliff Dwellers, The," Harper's Weekly, Vol. X X X V I I (June 3August 12, 1893), pp. 517, 550, 569, 598, 623, 651, 671, 689, 7 »3. 746- 773"Coal from the Embers, A," Waldo Trench and Others, 1908, pp. 97-15»· "Covered Pushcart, The," Harper's Monthly, Vol. C X L I X (June J924). PP· i s o - ^ 2 · "Cure of Souls, The," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 1 - 1 7 . "Dead-and-Alive, The," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 125-137. "Downfall of Abner Joyce, The," Under the Skylights, 1901, pp. 1-1 39· "Duchess Visits Her Home Town, The," Bookman, Vol. L X (December 1924), pp. 413-416. "Dr. Gowdy and the Squash," Harper's Monthly, Vol. CII (January 1901), pp. 262-282. Under the Skylights, 1901, pp. 325-382. "Eliza Hepburn's Deliverance," Century Magazine, Vol. L I X (February-March, 1900), pp. 533-544, 698-706. Waldo Trench and Others, 1908, pp. 199-257. "Errol's Voice," Century Magazine, Vol. CVIII (August 1924), pp· 527-535· "Few Days of Little Figi, The," Chicago Sunday Tribune, May 21, 1922, p. 2. "Foreword," in The So-Called Human Race by Bert Leston Taylor, New York, 1922, pp. vii-x. "For the Faith," Scribner's Magazine, Vol. X L I I (October 1907), PP· 433-446· Waldo Trench and Others, 1908, pp. 155-195·

BIBLIOGRAPHY

95

"Greatest of These, T h e , " Atlantic Monthly, Vol. L X X X (December 1897), pp. 7 6 2 - 7 8 3 . From the Other Side, 1898, pp. 1 - 9 3 . "His Little L i f e , " Chicago Sunday Tribune, January 1, 1922, p. 7. "Holy Week in Seville," Contributor's Magazine, Vol. I (April 22, 1893), pp. 2 - 7 . "House Cat, T h e , " Waldo

Trench

and Others,

1908, pp. 3 0 9 -

338· " H o w to Make Good Aldermen," Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I (April 14, igoo), p. 950. "Industrial Utopia, A n , " Harper's Weekly, Vol. L I (October 12, >907). PP· 1 4 8 2 - 1 4 8 3 . " I n Such a Night," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 1 9 9 - 2 1 2 . "Interlude," Chicago Tribune, J u n e 4, 1916. Lines Long and Short, 1 9 1 7 , pp. 9 7 - 1 0 4 . "Italian Fiction," Critic, Vol. X X X o.s. (May 29, 1897), p. 364. "Lady of Quality, A , " Living Age, Vol. C C X X V I I I (February 2, 1901), pp. 3 2 8 - 3 3 0 . (Selection from The Last Refuge.) " L i f e T a l e of Peary McRoy, T h e , " Everybody's, Vol. X X I I I (September 1910), pp. 3 8 0 - 3 8 9 . The Scholastic, April 18, 1925, p. 3. "Light T h a t Always Is, T h e , " The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 1 0 3 121. " L i t t l e O'Grady vs. T h e Grindstone," Under the Skylights, 1901, pp. 1 4 1 - 3 2 3 . " L o n g and Short of It, T h e , " Life,

Vol. I l l (June 26, 1884), pp.

355-357" L o v e of Love, T h e , " The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 3 7 - 4 9 . " M a k e Way for the Young," Scribner's, Vol. X L V I (November ' 9 ° 9 ) · PP- 6 2 5 - β 3 3 · " M e l t i n g Pot Begins to Smell, T h e , " New York Times Book Review, December 2 1 , 1924, p. 2. " M i r a n d a Harlowe's Mortgage," Atlantic Monthly, Vol. L X X X V I (November 1900), pp. 6 7 1 - 6 7 5 . "Modern M a n and Nature, T h e , " Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I (January 20, 1900), p. 638. "National Park at Lake Itasca, A , " Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I (April 2 1 , 1900), p. 974. "New Field for Free Verse, A , " Dial, Vol. L X I (December 14, 1916), pp. 5 1 5 - 5 1 7 .

96

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

"New Forms of Short Fiction," Dial, Vol. L X I I (March 8, 1917), pp. 167-169. "New Wine," Waldo Trench and. Others, 1908, pp. 59-94· "Northern Lights," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 141-157. "Notes on Lorado Taft," Century Magazine, Vol. LIV n.s. (October 1908), pp. 618-621. "On Marriage," Letter to the Editor, Chicago Tribune, October 3, 1875. Ibid., October 10, 1875. "On the Whirlwind," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 21-33. "O That Way Madness Lies," Chapbook, Vol. IV (December 1, 1895), pp. 71-80. "Pasquale's Picture," The Current, Vol. IV (July 11, 1885), pp. 27-28. From the Other Side, 1898, pp. 205-220. "Pilgrim Sons, The," Cosmopolitan, Vol. X I X (August 1895), PP· 413-427. From the Other Side, 1898, pp. 142-204. "Plea for Shorter Novels, The," Dial, Vol. L X I I I (August 1917), PP· ^ Θ - Η ΐ · "Portrait of a Veritist" (from "The Downfall of Abner Joyce") in American Literature: A Period Anthology, Vol. IV, " T h e Social Revolt, 1888-1914"; ed. Oscar Cargill, New York (The Macmillan Co.), 1933, pp. 82-87. "Postponement," Poetry, Vol. VII (February 1916), pp. 240-245. Current Opinion, Vol. L X (April 1916), p. 285. Lines Long and Short, 1917, pp. 47-53. "Quartette," Harper's Monthly, Vol. C X X I (November 1910), pp· 934-938· "Responsibility," Chicago Sunday Tribune, March 19, 1922, p. 5. "Ship Comes In, The," The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 73-84. Sea Plays, ed. Colin Campbell Clements, Boston (Small, Maynard 8c Co.), 1925, pp. 1 - 1 9 . "Shortcomings of Our Architects, The," Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I I (October 6, 1900), p. 12. "Silence," Scribner's Magazine, Vol. X L V I I I (October 1910), pp. 430-43 »· "Some Day," Life, Vol. I l l (March 27, 1884), p. 173. "Story of Naphtha, The, A Tale of Culture, Fashion and Duplicity by Elizabeth Hodgson Phelps and Frances Stuart

BIBLIOGRAPHY

97

Burnett," Life, Vol. I l l (April 3-10, 1884), pp. 187-189; 2 0 1 203. "Story Spinner, T h e , " The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. 1 6 1 - 1 7 5 . "Stranger Within the Gates, T h e , " The Puppet Booth, 1896, pp. !79-i95· "Striking an Average," Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I I (May 25, 1901), pp. 3, 14. Great Modern American Short Stories, ed. W. D. Howells, New York (Liveright), 1920. "Thirteenth Goddess, T h e , " Harper's Monthly, Vol. C X L V I I I (December 1923), pp. 1 2 5 - 1 2 7 . "Toward Childhood," Poetry, Vol. IX (January 1917), pp. 189194· Lines Long and Short, 1917, pp. 124-130. "Transcontinental Episode, A; or Metamorphoses at Muggins Misery; A Co-operative Novel, by Bret James and Henry Harte," Life, Vol. I l l (January 24, 31, 1884), pp. 47-49; 62-63. " T u r n and T u m About," Chicago Sunday Tribune, June 22, 1924, Scction V, p. 8. "Under the Crest of Shishaldin," Everybody's, Vol. X V I (June l 9°7)· PP· 809-815. "Upward Movement in Chicago, The," Atlantic Monthly, Vol. L X X X (October 1897), p. 534. "Waldo Trench Regains His Youth," Scribner's, Vol. X L I I (August 1907), pp. 231-248. Waldo Trench and Others, 1908, pp. 3-55. "Westminster Abbey," Century Magazine, Vol. X L V (March 1893), pp. 700-718. "What Youth Can Do," From the Other Side, 1898, pp. 94-141. "When in Doubt—Send Flowers," Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I I (August 1 1 , 1900), p. 12. "Why Is the Anglo-Saxon Disliked?" Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I (January 6, 1900), p. 590. "With the Procession" (extract from the novel), Warner's Library of the World's Best Literature, Vol. VII, pp. 6 1 0 1 - 6 1 1 8 . SELECTED REVIEWS: "Age of Chaucer, T h e " (Chaucer and His England, by G. G. Coulton), Freeman, Vol. VI (October 4, 1922), pp. 93-94.

HENRY BLAKE FULLER 9» {Alliances for the Mind, by Gertrude Besse King), New Republic, Vol. X X X I X (July 16, 1924), p. 216. "American Poet and Editor, An" (The Letters of Richard Watson Gilder), Dial, Vol. L X I (November 30, 1916), pp. 455-456. (Anton Chekov: A Critical Study, by William Gerhardi), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I I (March 26, 1924), pp. 129-130. "Art of Fiction-Writing, The," (The Craft of Fiction, by Percy Lubbock), Freeman, Vol. V (May 3, 1922), pp. 189-190. (Aspects of the Modern Short Story, English and American, by Alfred C. Ward), New York Times Book Review, June 28, 1925, p. 16. (Autobiography of T. Jefferson Coolidge, The), New York Times Book Review, December 16, 1923, p. 8. "Bashkirtsev of Our Day, A " (The Journal of Marie Leneru, tr. by William Aspinwall Bradley, Freeman, Vol. VIII (December 19, 1923), p. 356. "Bromfield Saga, The," Bookman, Vol. L X V (April 1927), pp. 200-203. (Byron in England: His Fame and After Fame, by Samuel C. Chew; The Political Career of Lord Byron by Dora Neill Raymond), New York Herald-Tribune, May 4, 1924, p. 23. (Charles Dickens and Other Victorians, by Sir Arthur QuillerCouch), New York Times Book Review, August 30, 1925, p. 4. (Claims of the Coming Generalion, The, Essays arranged by Sir James Marchant), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I I (May 14, >924). PP· 3 1 7~3 1 8· (Color of a Great City, The, by Theodore Dreiser), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I (June 30, 1924), pp. 263-64. (Contemporary American Novelists, by Carl Van Dören), Nation, Vol. C X I I I (December s i , 1921), p. 730. (Contemporary French Literature, by Ren£ Lalou; Imaginary Lives by Marcel Schwab, tr. by Lorimer Hammond), New Republic, Vol. X L I (February 18, 1925), p. 346. "Creator of Figaro, T h e " (Figaro: The Life of Beaumarchais, by John Rivers), Freeman, Vol. VII (May 9, 1923), pp. 209211. "Crocean Dante, T h e " (The Poetry of Dante, by Benedetto Croce), Freeman, Vol. V (May 31, 1922), pp. 282-284. "Dear Old Eighteenth Century" (Memoirs of William Hickey,

BIBLIOGRAPHY

99

1 J 4 9 - 1 J 8 2 , ed. by Alfred Spencer), Freeman, Vol. IV (January 4, 1922), pp. 403-404· (Dictionary of Modern English Usage, A, by H. W. Fowler; History in English Words by Owen Barfield), New York Times Book Review, January 2, 1927, p. 2. (Distressing Dialogues, by Nancy Boyd; The Literary Spotlight, ed. by John Farrar), New Republic, Vol. X L I (January 7, 1925), pp. 180-181. (Dominant Blood, The, by Robert E. McClure), New York HeraldTribune Books, January 25, 1925. "Early American Architecture" (Domestic Architecture of the American Colonies and of the Early Republic, by Fiske Kimball), Freeman, Vol. V I I I (January 16, 1924), pp. 453-454. (Eight Paradises: Travel Pictures in Persia, Asia Minor and Constantinople, The, by Princess C. V. Bibesco), New Republic, Vol. X L (October 1, 1924), p. 12. (Elsie and the Child, by Arnold Bennett), Saturday Review of Literature, Vol. I (November 29, 1924), p. 319. (Episodes Before Thirty, by Algernon Blackwood), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I I (March 19, 1924), p. 104. "Eminent Victoria, T h e " (Queen Victoria, by Lytton Strachey), Freeman, Vol. I l l (August 31, 1921), pp. 594-595. (English Language in America, The, by George Philip Krapp), New York Times Book Review, February 7, 1926, p. 2. (English Literature in Its Foreign Relations, by Laurie Magnus), New York Times Book Review, April 8, 1928, p. 2. (Erasmus: A Study of His Life, Ideals, and Place in History, by Preserved Smith), Freeman, Vol. VIII (November 21, 1923). (Eugene Field's Creative Years, by Charles H. Dennis), Natioii, Vol. C X I X (December 10, 1924), p. 650. (Firecrackers, by Carl Van Vechten), Saturday Review of Literature, Vol. II (August 15, 1925), p. 39. "French Controversy, A," Saturday Review of Literature, Vol. IV (July 2i, 1928), p. 1053. "From A to Z " (More Authors and I, by C. Lewis Hind), Freeman, Vol. VI (December 20, 1922), pp. 357-358. (From Immigrant to Inventor, by Michael Pupin), Neiü York Times Book Review, October 14, 1923, pp. 2, 12. (From Pinafores to Politics, by Mrs. J . Borden Harriman), New York Times Book Review, November 25, 1923, p. 3.

lOO

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

(Garrulities of an Octogenarian Editor, by Henry Holt), New York Times Book Review, December 23, 1923, p. 1. (Genius of Style, The, by W. C. Brownell), New Republic, Vol. X L I I (April 1, 1925), p. 162. "Georges-Jacques Danton" (Danton, by Louis Madelin), Freeman, Vol. V (April 5, 1922), pp. 90-91. (Germinie Lacerteux, by Edmond and James de Goncourt, tr. by Ernest Boyd), Freeman, Vol. VI (February 7, 1923), p. 526. "Harbinger of Abdications" (Some Revolutions and Other Diplomatic Experiences, by Sir Henry G. Elliot), Freeman, Vol. VI (February 28, 1923), pp. 596-597. (Hellenistic Philosophies, by Paul Elmer More; Greek Religion and Its Survivals, by Walter Woodburn Hyde; The Poetics of Aristotle—Its Meaning and Influence, by Lane Cooper), New York Times Book Review, January 20, 1924, p. 9. (Heroes of the Puppet Stage, The, by Marie Anderson), Freeman, Vol. V I I I (December 19, 1923), p. 359. "History of Art, T h e " (A History of Art, by Η. B. Cotterell), Freeman, Vol. VII (August 8, 1923), pp. 523-524. (Intimate Letters of James Gibbons Huneker, Collected and edited by Josephine Huneker), New York Times Book Review, January 4, 1925, p. 3. "Italian Renaissance, T h e " (Aspects of the Italian Renaissance, by Rachel Armand Taylor), Freeman, Vol. VII (July 11, J923). PP· 428-429· (James Branch Cabell, by Carl Van Dören; Theodore Dreiser, by Burton Rascoe), New Republic, Vol. X L I V (September 16, »925). Ρ· 1 °4· (Knowledge of English, The, by George Philip Krapp; A Comprehensive Guide to Good English, by George Philip Krapp), New York Times Book Review, December 25, 1927, p. 2. "Last Half, T h e , " (Senescence: The Last Half of Life, by G. Stanley Hall), Nation, Vol. C X V (August 9, 1922), pp. 150-151. (Late Harvest: Miscellaneous Papers, Written Between Eighty and Ninety, by Charles W. Eliot), New York Times Book Review, March 30, 1924, p. 1. (Letters and Religion, by John J . Chapman), New Republic, Vol. X X X I X (July 30, 1924), p. 280. (tetters from a Distance, by Gilbert Cannon), New Republic, Vol. X L (October 15, 1924), pp. 184-185.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ιοί

"Looking Backwards" (Memoirs of the Future: Being Memoirs of the Years 19/5-/972. Written in the Year of Grace 1988 by Opal, Lady Porstock, edited by Ronald A. Knox), Freeman, Vol. VIII (December 12, 1923), p. 331. [Madame de Pompadour, by Marcelle Tenayre, tr. by Ethel Colburn Mayne), Commonweal, July 29, 1926, pp. 3 1 0 - 3 1 1 . "Maker of America, A " (A Life of George Washington, by Henry G. Prout), Freeman, Vol. V (June 7, 1922), p. 308. (Making of the English New Testament, The, by Edgar J . Goodspeed), New Republic, Vol. X L I I I (August 19, 1925), p. 353. (Man and Mystery in Asia, by Ferdinand Ossendowski), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I I (March 5, 1924), pp. 51-52. (Manin and the Venetian Revolution, 1848, by George Macaulay Trevelyan), New Republic, Vol. X L (August 27, 1924), p. 396. (Marcel Proust: An English Tribute, collected by C. K. Scott Moncrieff), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I I (February 27, 1924), p. 22. (The Medici, by Colonel G. F. Young), Freeman, Vol. VIII (December 5, 1923), pp. 3 1 0 - 3 1 1 . (Memories of Travel, by Viscount Bryce), Freeman, Vol. VII (July 4, 1923), p. 407. (Midwest Portraits, by Harry Hansen), Literary Review, Vol. IV (January 5, 1924), p. 420. "Moliere and His Times," (Moliere, by Arthur Tilley), Freeman, Vol. V (March 29, 1922), pp. 66-67. (New England in the Republic, iyy6-i8^o, by James Truslow Adams), Commonweal, July 21, 1926, p. 290. "Monsieur France's Opinions" (The Opinions of Anatole France, by Paul Gsell, tr. by Ernest Boyd), Freeman, Vol. V (August 16, 1922), pp. 546-547· (Mrs. Meynell and Her Literary Generation, by Anne Kimball Tuell), New Republic, Vol. X L I I I (May 27, 1925), p. 26. (Napoleon and His Court, by B. S. Forester; Napoleon and Josephine—The Rise of the Empire, by Walter Gier), New York Times Book Review, October 5, 1924, p. 3, 6. (Napoleon and Marie Louise: The Fall of the Empire, by Walter Gier; Josephine, Napoleon's Empress, by B. S. Forester), New York Times Book Review, January 3, 1926, p. 21. "One on a Tower" (Figures of Earth, by James Branch Cabell), Freeman, Vol. I l l (May 4, 1921), pp. 186-187.

io2

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

"On Shakespeare" (Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, by Sir George Greenwood), Freeman, Vol. V (June 21, 1922), p. 358. (Our Times: The United States 1900-1925; Vol. I, " T h e Turn of the Century," by Mark Sullivan), Literary Digest International Book Review, Vol. IV (July 1926), p. 502. (Outline of Science, The, iii, iv, ed. by J . Arthur Thomson), Nation, Vol. C X V (December 27, 1922), pp. 720-721. (Pilgrimage of Henry James, The, by Van Wyck Brooks), New York Times Book Review, April 19, 1925, p. 4. (Pierre Curie, by Mme. Curie), New York Herald-Tribune Books, November 1 1 , 1923, p. 14. (Points of View, by Stuart P. Sherman), New Republic, Vol. X L I (January 14, 1925), pp. 204-205. (Portraits: Real and Imaginary, by Ernest Boyd), New Republic, Vol. X L I (January 21, 1925), pp. 236-237. "Planner of Cities" (David H. Burnham, Architect, Planner of Cities, by Charles Moore), Nation, Vol. CXIV (February 8, 1922), pp. 166-167. "Prince of the Church, A " (.Henry Edward Manning: His Life and Letters, by Shane Leslie), Freeman, Vol. IV (November 16, 1921), pp. 233-235. (Problem of Style, The, by J . Middlcton Murry), New Republic, Vol. X X X I (July 19, 1922), pp. 221-222. (Real Sarah Bernhardt, The, by Mme. Pierre Berton and Basil Woon), New Republic, Vol. X X X V I I I (May 7, 1924), pp. 290291. (Recollections of a Happy Life, by Maurice Francis Egan), Nation, Vol. C X X (June 24, 1925), p. 722. (Reflections on the Napoleonic Legend, by Albert Leon Guerard), New York Times Book Review, February 17, 1924, p. 1. (Romantic '90's, The, by Richard Le Gallienne), New York Times Book Review, December 20, 1925, p. 12. "Sardinian Days" (Sea and Sardinia, by D. H. Lawrence), Freeman, Vol. IV (March 1, 1922), pp. 595-596. "Science Outlined" (The Outline of Science, ed. by J . Arthur Thomson), Nation, Vol. C X V (July 19, 1922), pp. 72-73. (Since Cezanne, by Clive Bell), Nation, Vol. CXV (September 6, 1922), pp. 234-235. (Shadow of the Gloomy East, The, by Ferdinand A. Ossendowski), New Republic, Vol. X L I I (May 6, 1925), p. 299.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

103

(Sharps and Flats—Life of Eugene Field, by Slason Thompson), New York Herald-Tribune Books, January 30, 1927, p. 3. (Smiths, The, by Janet A. Fairbank), Literary Digest International Book Review, Vol. I l l (September 1925), p. 663. (Some Victorian Men, by Harry Fumess), New York HeraldTribune Books, (February 1, 1925). (Story of My Life, The, by Sir Harry Johnston), New York Herald, November 18, 1923, p. 4. (Straws and Prayer Books, by James Branch Cabell), New Republic, Vol. X L I (December 31, 1924), pp. 1 5 1 - 1 5 2 . (Studies from Ten Literatures, by Ernest Boyd), New Republic, Vol. X L I V (October 7, 1925), pp. 183-184. "Studies in Religious Faith" (Medieval Heresy and the Inquisition, by A. S. Turbeville; The Jesuits—1534-1921, by Thomas J . Campbell), Freeman, Vol. V (April 19, 1922), pp. 139140. (Supers and Supermen, by Philip Guedalla), New York HeraldTribune Books, September 21, 1924, p. 12. (Suspended Judgments, by John Gowper Powys), Freeman, Vol. VII (September 5, 1923), p. 623. (Taboo, by Wilbur Daniel Steele), Literary Digest International Book Review, Vol. I l l (November 1925), p. 818. (Theodore Roosevelt, by Lord Chamwood), New York Times Book Review, October 28, 1923, p. 3. "Theory of Fiction, T h e " (The Modern Novel, by Wilson Follett), Dial, Vol. L X V I (February 22, 1919), pp. 193-194. (Through Thirty Years, by Henry Wickham Steed), New Republic, Vol. X L I I (March 24, 1925), pp. 136-137. (Thomas NelsoJi Page, by Rosewell Page), Freeman, Vol. VII (July 18, 1923), pp. 450-452. "Three Generations" (A Daughter of the Middle Border, by Hamlin Garland), Freeman, Vol. IV (November 9, 1921), pp. 2 1 0 211. (Tocsin of Revolt and Other Essays, The, by Brander Matthews), Freeman, Vol. VI (February 21, 1923), p. 574. (The True Stevenson, by George S. Hellman), New York Times Book Review, November 29, 1925, p. 1. " T w o Celtic Biographies" (Memories and Adventures, by Arthur Conan Doyle; The London Adventure, by Arthur Machen), New Republic, Vol. X L (November 12, 1924), p. 279.

104

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

(Wanderings, by Clayton Hamilton), Literary Digest International Book Review, Vol. IV (December 1925), p. 13. (Words and Idioms, by Logan Pearsall Smith), New York Times Book Review, September 13, 1925, p. 2. (World of William Clissold, The, by H. G. Wells), Literary Digest International Book Review, Vol. IV (November 1926), p. 755. "Youth of Anatole France, T h e " (The Bloom of Life, by Anatole France), Freeman, Vol. VII (June 13, 1923), pp. 330-331. "Youth of Sudermann, T h e " (The Book of My Youth, by Herman Sudermann), Freeman, Vol. VII (July 25, 1923), pp. 475-476. "Untiring Anti-Imperialist, An" (The Secret History of the English Occupation of Egypt, by Wilfred Scawen Blunt), Freeman, Vol. VI (January 3, 1923), p. 403. DIARIES AND JOURNALS: (Because of the great variety and fragmentary condition of many of the papers used as reference, they are described more by content than by format, and much of the obviously unimportant material has been omitted altogether.) References for the early years of Henry Blake Fuller: 1. School report cards. 2. "Private Diary," Feb.-June, 1869 (aged 12). 3. "Odds and Ends," Nov. 4, 1871-Nov. 4, 1872. 4. "Allisonian Chronology" for 1873-1874. 5. "Allisonian Classical Academy," I & II, begun Feb. 28, 1875. 6. "A Legacy to Posterity," July 11, 1874-1879 (irregular). 7. Journal (described as "mental record") begun Aug. 25, 1876; irregular entries through 1878 and 1879. European Journals, I, II, III (4 to ruled ledgers) I. August 19, 1879-December 6, 1879 (Flyleaf elaborately decorated with travel scenes), pp. 137. "Tribune letters" inserted. II. December 7, 1879-March 7, 1880, pp. 137. III. March 8, 1880-September 1, 1880, pp. 165, last 30 pp. inserted. UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS: "Big Show at Canberra, The," pp. 15 (1,850 words). Rejected Dec. 20, 1921. A futuristic phantasy in the year 2008.

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105

" C a r l Carlsen's Progress," A u t o g r a p h M S (2 copies). C o p y 1: p p . 12 (1,700 words). C o p y 2: p p . 13 (1,800 words). Signed " H e n r y B. Fuller, 2831 Prairie Ave., C h i c a g o . " W r i t t e n between 1894 a n d 1907, t h e dates of Fuller's residence at 2831 Prairie A v e n u e . Story of a n up-to-date street cleaner w h o m a k e s his f o r t u n e by m a k i n g himself a n d his family the pet p h i l a n t h r o p i c e n t e r p r i s e of a f a s h i o n a b l e n e i g h b o r h o o d . See A ppendix, page 87. " C h i c a g o , " A u t o g r a p h MS, p p . 12 (2,300 words), " H e n r y B. F u l l e r , 5 4 1 1 H a r p e r Avenue, Chicago." F u l l e r was living at 5411 H a r p e r A v e n u e in 1928. Article i n t e n d e d to be the f o u r t h of his articles o n his native city. R e j e c t e d by Nexu Republic. C h a p t e r s 1 a n d 2 of a n unfinished novel, d a t e d "3/20/29." Historical b a c k g r o u n d ; t h e r o m a n c e of a stage-coach driver. S h o r t story: C o p y 1, " C u l t u r e a n d Cookery," A u t o g r a p h MS, " Η . B. Fuller, 2426 Michigan Avenue, Chicago," p p . 8. C o p y 2, " H e r Second Siring," a u t o g r a p h MS, p p . 11, 1,175 words. " H a r l e y F u l t o n , G.P.O., Chicago." ( T h e Fullers m o v e d f r o m 2426 M i c h i g a n A v e n u e between 1885 a n d 1888.) H o w a y o u n g b r i d e p r o v e d t h a t h e r intellectual c o m p a n i o n s h i p w i t h h e r h u s b a n d was s u p p l e m e n t e d by a c o o k i n g d i p l o m a , thus c o m b i n i n g t h e r e a l w i t h t h e ideal, a n d e x h i b i t i n g h e r "second string." " D i m i n u e n d o " (free verse), u n d a t e d , 11. 119. C o n c e r n i n g t h e g r a d u a l l y subsiding revolt of a discontented y o u n g w o m a n of twenty-eight. " E d m u n d D a l r y m p l e , " a u t o g r a p h MS, A Actionized f o r m of the first Allison a p p a r e n t l y i n t e n d e d to be c o n t i n u e d its h e r o . C o n t a i n s m a n y exact parallels

c. 8,000 words, p p . 125. Classical A c a d e m y d i a r y , t h r o u g h t h e later life of to the diary.

F o u r c h a p t e r s of a n i n t e n d e d novel, a u t o g r a p h MS, p p . 77. ( C h a p . I—pp. 20; C h a p . II—pp. 15; C h a p . I l l — p p . 17; C h a p . IV—pp. 25.) A n e a r l i e r c o n c e p t i o n of t h e subject t h a t resulted in Bertram Cope's Year. Basil R a n d o l p h a p p e a r s delicately in t h e role of a m a n j e a l o u s of his m e n f r i e n d s . " H e r D o u b l e G i f t , " a u t o g r a p h MS, 2 copies. C o p y 1: p p . 14, c. 1,775 words, signed " H a r l e y F u l t o n , G . P . O . " ; copy 2: p p . 17, c.

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

1,775 words. How the city girl who once photographed the son of the soil comes back crushed by the trials of life in time to pay the mortgage off the house and present the aged mother with the long-forgotten picture of her dead son—as a double gift. Fuller's notation: "The Circle—Dr. Compton, sent 6/3/07 back 7/12/07." "An Hour on Earth," typescript, signed "Henry B. Fuller, 5427 Blackstone Ave., Chicago." Pp. 15, c. 4,500 words. Deals with a landing during an aeroplane race. The dawn of love between a hero of the air and a young woman dispensing doughnuts and coffee. Fuller was living at 5427 Blackstone Avenue in 1922. "Howells or James?" autograph MS, signed " Η . B. Fuller, 2426 Michigan Avenue, Chicago." Pp. 8, 2,000 words. A detailed comparison of these writers, resulting in favor of Howells. "A realism made up of select actualities is pretty apt to come out idealistically in the end." Written before 1888. "In Winter Weather," autograph MS, two copies. Signed: " Η . B. Fuller, Chicago." Copy 1: pp. 34, 5,700 words. Copy 2: pp. 54, 5,800 words. Title page notation by Fuller: " A domestic tragedy in a small country town: a girl resents her step-mother's intervention in her love-affair." A realistic study of terror and revenge. Intense cold is the medium through which the double tragedy is achieved, and it is powerfully wrought. This MS was mentioned in "Abner Joyce," written in 1900. It was mailed out in 1910, and probably before. Sketch, two copies. Copy 1: "Juvenilitas." Autograph MS, signed "Henry B. Fuller, Chicago." Pp. 40, 3,750 words. Copy 2: "Our Youthful Day." Typescript, pp. 33, 3,750 words. Discusses the social "tone" of the Middle West; at once a "literary" study and a homily for the American mother. Title page notation by Fuller: "A satiric picture of the ineffectual effort of the Middle West to imprint itself on the cultural consciousness of the East." Sent out at the same time as "Turlington's Victory." "The Man with the Pen," autograph MS, signed "Henry B. Fuller, 2831 Prairie Ave." Pp. 4. Contrasts the man with the pen and the man with the hoe. "Body fag may be bad, but brain fog is worse." Between 1894 and 1907.

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" A Monologue," typescript, pp. 10. T h e amusing picture of the trials of an author whose wife is attempting to take the place of his secretary, and who takes all his literary aphorisms as personal insults. " M y Early Books," typescript, signed "Henry B. Fuller, 5412 Blackstone Ave." Pp. 8. An account, in familiar style, of the making of Fuller's novels up to and including On the Stairs. Fuller was living at 5412 Blackstone Avenue in 1919. "Near the Bright Lights," autograph MS, two copies, signed "Henry B. Fuller, 5412 Blackstone Ave." Copy 1: pp. 101, c. 10,000 words. Copy 2: pp. 41, c. 10,000 words. T h e story of a penniless impostor who sows the wild oats of his millionaire namesake. An interesting resemblance to Under the Skylights, in which the "Cave Man C l u b " is satirized, and in which many of the characters of Under the Skylights are included. Fuller was living at 5412 Blackstone Ave. in 1919. Copy 2, marked " 5 4 1 1 Harper Avenue," indicates that Fuller was reworking the story in 1928. "Oliver's Outing," autograph MS, words. Four fragmentary chapters. cured of globe-trotting by an uncle penses for a year on the condition town every night.

unfinished. Pp. 41, c. 4,900 How a young man is to be who promises to pay his exthat he sleep in a different

" O u r Lady of Light," autograph MS, pp. 29, 3,800 words. Dated "Oct. 28, 1892." Donna Maria de la Luz, recently widowed, is about to start a pilgrimage to all the Spanish shrines. Abrupt ending. Donna Maria appears in Gardens of This World, still prayerful. " R e a d y for Rest" (free verse), pp. 1 1 , 160 words, n.d. T h e same longing to leave the new and raw and go to an "old, and quiet, and finished, and settled" country. " T h e Red Carpet," autograph MS, pp. 20. Dated "April 26, 1896." Symbolic dramatic sketch. (See Appendix, page 77.) " T h e Rented Madonna," autograph MS, signed "Henry B. Fuller, 5428 Washington Ave., Chicago." Pp. 38, 4,000 words. A satire on art "collectors." T h e ironic tale of the pursuit of a Carlo Dolci,

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HENRY BLAKE FULLER

spurious, which had disappeared in the absence of its owners, the Dethmars, who had an "immense amount of 'taste.' Nobody said it was good taste or bad taste: it was just taste." Notation in Fuller's hand: "Delineator, 11/20—550." Publication not located. Fuller was trying to place this story also between 1905 and 1910. "Rosamund Risks It," autograph MS, two copies. Copy 1: signed "Harley R . Fulton, Gen. P.O., Chicago," pp. 13, c. 1,650 words. Copy 2: signed "Henry B. Fuller, 2831 Prairie Ave." Pp. 20, c. 1,600 words. Written between 1894, the year in which the Fullers bought 2831 Prairie Avenue, and November 14, 1906-January 4, 1907, the dates of composition of "Addolorata's Intervention," in which it is mentioned. Story of a prima donna who rids herself of a threatening understudy by allowing her to fail, the risk being that she might have succeeded. Sketch. T w o copies. Copy 1: " T h e Story of a Panic," autograph MS, signed " Η . B. Fuller, 2426 Michigan Ave." Pp. 4. Copy 2: " A Panic or the Story of a Panic," autograph MS, signed "Harley Fulton, 2831 Prairie Avenue." Pp. 11, 2,000 words. T h e diligent efforts of Philadelphia householders to keep their marble "fronts" clean causes a market flurry in brushes, pumice, and pails. Probably during the early eighties. "A Study in Clay," autograph MS, signed "Harley Fulton, 2831 Prairie Avenue." Pp. 18, 3,800 words. Art vs. money; finesse vs. publicity. T h e artisan, proud of his craft, is being swallowed up by progressive consolidations. Probably early nineties. "Thoughts of Escape" (free verse), 11. 93. T h e picture of a middleaged school teacher, who neglected living to become an intellectual, and cannot now, disgusted as she is, get out of harness. Dated "1/27/20." "Toward the New World" (free verse), 11. 97, n.d. T h i s poem reverses Fuller's usual theme, and tells of the young Italian longing for the realities of the New World and impatient of his ancient heritage. "Turlington's Victory," autograph MS, pp. 39, c. 2,000 words. Notation: "Written Nov. 27-29. Copied and revised 11/30." How the pallbearer de facto lacks the prestige of the honorary pallbearer, and how George Turlington not only withstands this insult to his dignity but wins the daughter of the woman who put

BIBLIOGRAPHY

109

the slight upon him. This MS was written between 1905 and 1910 and sent out to various magazines at the same time as "Make Way for the Young" (Nov. 1909), " T h e Life Tale of Pearl McRoy" (Sept. 1910), "For the Faith" (Oct. 1907), and "Quartette" (Nov. 1910). "Valentino," autograph MS, pp. 12, 1,200 words, n. d. A most flattering estimate of "the Great Lover" who possesses the "grand manner"—"poise, quietude and restraint, coupled with momentum." "A Visitor of Distinction," autograph MS, signed "Henry Blake Fuller, Oconomowoc, Wisconsin." Pp. 40, c. 1,200 words, n. d, but early neat script. A summer colony provides the background for a case of mistaken identity. Young Hardinge is taken for an Englishman and therefore a superior creature, by Mrs. Percival, who urges him on her niece, only to have his commonplace American origin exposed. "The Way through the World," autograph MS, signed "Harley Fulton, 2831 Prairie Ave." Pp. 14, 1,500 words. An amusing story of the success of the ready answer, the candid gaze, and the guileless mien. A gently satiric proof that the opportunist is the only man who progresses. Between 1894 and 1907. "The White Swan," autograph MS, pp. 2. "July 12, 1874." A fairy play written at the age of ij}/2, after seeing the performance of The While Faun. "Winifred's One Weakness," autograph MS, signed "Η. B. Fuller, 2831 Prairie Ave., Chicago." Pp. 14, 1,550 words. How a selfconfident young stockbroker is made to look ridiculous before his lady love in various situations calling for manly valor—which she provides. His ego is saved when he rescues her from a June bug, her one weakness. 1894-1907. TRANSLATIONS: Aradolfi's Novel (II Romanzo), by Carlo Placci, pp. 27,4,600 words. Cavaliers of Ihe "lmmacolala," The (I Cavalieri dell' Immacolata), by Enrico Castelnuovo, pp. 85, 9,200 words. Domenico's Duel (Stonella Vecchia), by Gervlamo Rovetta, pp. 59, 6,000 words. Fairy in the Mirror, The (II Folletto nello Specchio), by Antonio Fogazzaro, pp. 12, 2,200 words.

no

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

Grandmother's Gossip (Le Chiacchiere della Nonna), by Enrico Castelnuovo, pp. 35, 3,300 words. I Would Kill Him Again!, by Vittorio Bersezio, pp. 43, 4,000 words. Lisa's Watch (L' Orologio di Lisa), by Antonio Fogazzaro, pp. 34, 3,700 words. Matrimonial Joke, A (Una Celia), by Carlo Placci, pp. 38, 6,500 words. Mystery, The (II Mistero), by Giovanni Verga, pp. 19, 2,700 words. Signora Cherubino and her "Democracy" (La Democrazia della Signora Cherubina), by Enrico Castelnuovo, pp. 24, 2,200 words. Story from Greece, A (Novella Greca), by Matilde Serao, 2,500 words. Toymaker, The (Un Inventore), by Matilde Serao, pp. 22, 2,600 words.

OPERAS AND LIBRETTOS: Cyrano, libretto, autograph MS, pp. 94, 13 χ 18 lined paper. Apparently the first copy. Many inserts and corrections. Act I pp. 19 Act II pp. 26 Act III pp. 22 Act IV pp. 19 Act V pp. 8 Mariquita, autograph MS of score. 107 standard lined music sheets in paper folder. Mariquita, libretto, 8 x 1 3 foolscap, pp. 6g. Typescript, paper bound and sewn, undated Act I pp. 28 Act II pp. 23 Act III pp. 18 Pipistrello, libretto, autograph MS, pp. 60. Tablet form, clipbound, cardboard backing. 14 χ 8% ruled paper. 1887 Act I pp. 19 Act II pp. 24 Act III pp. 16 Pipistrello, autograph MS of score, 1 1 5 standard lined music sheets in paper folder.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

111

S E L E C T E D C R I T I C I S M OF H E N R Y BLAKE FULLER:

Archer, W i l l i a m , America To-day, New York (Charles Scribner's Sons), 1899. Pp. 110-111, passim. Banks, Nancy Huston, "Henry B. Fuller," Bookman, Vol. II (Aug.-Sept. 1895), p. 15. Book Buyer, Vol. X I I (January 1896), pp. 821-822. "Henry B. Fuller." Book Review Digest, 1908 (Waldo Trench and Others); 1917 (Lines Long and Short); 1918 (On the Stairs); 1920 (Bertram Cope's Year); 1929 (Gardens of This World); 1930 (Not on the Screen). Boyesen, H j a l m a r Hjorth, Cosmopolitan, Vol. X V I (January 1894), p. 373. ( T h e Cliff-Dwellers). Dictionary of American Biography, Vol. VII, pp. 56-57, "Henry Blake Fuller." Dell, Floyd, Bookman, Vol. X X X V I I I (November 1913), pp. 275277, "Chicago in Fiction." Dondore, Dorothy Α., The Prairie and the Making of Middle America, Cedar Rapids, la. (Torch Press) 1926. Pp. 332-333, 335' 377-378, 397, 409. Dreiser, Theodore, American Spectator, Vol. I, p. 1, " T h e Great American Novel." Encyclopedia of A merican Biography, Vol. X V I I (American Historical Society), 1924, pp. 241-246. Farrar, John, Bookman ( " T h e Literary Spotlight"), Vol. L V I I (February 1924), pp. 645-649. Garland, Hamlin, Companions on the Trail, New York (Macmillan Co.), 1931. P. 57 et passim. , Letter to The New York Times, August 1, 1929, p. 26, col. 6. , Bookman, Vol. L X X (February 1930), pp. 633-637, "Roadside Meetings of a Literary Nomad." Gordon, George, The Men Who Make Our Novels, New York, 1928. " H e n r y Blake Fuller," pp. 190-194. Howells, W i l l i a m Dean, Harper's Bazaar, Vol. X X V I (October 28, 1893), p. 883. ( T h e Cliff Dwellers) , Heroines of Fiction, New York (Harper and Bros.), 1901, pp. 246-253. Huneker, James, Unicorns, New York (Charles Scribner's Sons), 1921. Chapter V I I ( " T h e Great American Novel"), p. 84.

ii2

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

Huneker, James, Current Opinion, Vol. L (January 1916), p. 52. (James Huneker's Bitter Criticism of Our Neglect of a Great American Masterpiece) Last Refuge, The, The Nation, Vol. L X X I I (February 28, 1901), p. 182. (Review) , Saturday Evening Post, Vol. C L X X I I I (March 2, 1901), p. 15 (Review). Lovett, Robert Morss, New Republic, Vol. L X (August 21, 1929), "Fuller of Chicago," pp. 16-18. Mencken, H. L., Prejudices, 3rd series, New York (Knopf), 1920. , , 4th series, New York (Knopf), 1924. Morgan, Anna, henry b. fuller, Chicago, 1929. , My Chicago, Chicago (R. F. Seymour), 1918. Pp. 158-160. Monroe, Harriet, Poetry, Vol. X X X V (October 1929), "Tribute," pp. 34-41. New York Times (Obituary), July 29, 1929, p. 19c; July 30, p. 20. Oppenheim, J . H., The American Mercury, Vol. X L (April 1937), "Autopsy on Chicago," pp. 454-461. Pattee, Fred Lewis, The New American Literature, 1890-1930, New York (The Century Co.), 1930, pp. 27-29. Payne, William Norton, Dial, Vol. X X X I I (February 1, 1902), p. 89. (Under the Skylights) Pcattie, Donald Culross, "Henry Blake Fuller," Reading and Collecting,Vol. II (January, 1938), pp. 19-20. Pratt, Cornelia Atwood, Critic, Vol. X L (April 1, 1902), p. 345. (Under the Skylights) Puppet Booth, The (Review), Chicago Evening Post, May 23, 1898. Quinn, Arthur Hobson, American Fiction, New York (D. Appleton-Century), 1936. Pp. 424-432. Reid, Mary J., Midland Monthly, Vol. V (May 1896), pp. 412-425. "A Glance at Recent Western Literature." , Midland Monthly, Vol. IV (December 1895), pp. 491-504, "Among the Chicago Writers." , Book Buyer, Vol. X I I (January 1896), pp. 821-822. "Henry B. Fuller." Repplier, Agnes, Essays in Miniature, New York (C. L. Webster) 1892. "A Byway in Fiction," pp. 87-103. Riordan, Roger, Critic, Vol. X X X (March 27, 1897), PP· 2 1 1 - 2 1 2 , "Henry B. Fuller."

BIBLIOGRAPHY

113

Schultz, Victor, Bookman, Vol. L X X (September 1929), pp. 34-38, "Henry Blake Fuller: Civilized Chicagoan." Under the Skylights, The Book Buyer, Vol. X X I V (April 1902), p. 239. (Review) , The Nation, Vol. L X X I V (March 20, 1902), p. 232. (Review) Van Dören, Carl, Contemporary American Novelists, 1900-1920, New York (Macmillan Co.), 1922. Pp. 13&-140. Van Vechten, Carl, Excavations, New York, 1926. Pp. 129-147. With the Procession, Chap Book, Vol. I l l (June 1, 1895), PP· 72—79. (Review)

Index "Addolorata's Intervention," 61 "Afterglow," 47 Allison Classical Academy, 4 American Tragedy, An, 74 Arnold, Matthew, 17 "At Saint Judas's," 47, 49 Awakening, The, 40

"Downfall of Abner Joyce, T h e , " 60 "Dr. Gowdy and the Squash," 60 Dreiser, Theodore, 39, 45, 69, 75

Bertram Cope's Year, 66-68, 74, 75 "Between the Mill-Stones," 40 "Blake Fuller," 20 Bleak House, 11 Brooks, Van Wyck, 68 Bromfield, Louis, 69, 75 Byron, Lord, 17

"Fan, T h e , " 50 Field, Eugene, 21 "For the Faith," 61 Freeman, Mary Wilkins, 40 Freeman, The, 68 From the Other Side, 20, 50, 53, 74 Fuller Genealogy, 2 Fuller, George Wood, 3 Fuller, Henry, 2 Fuller, Isaac, 2 Fuller, Lemuel, 2 F'uller, Margaret, 2 Fuller, Dr. Samuel, 2

Cabell, James Branch, 68, 69 Carlyle, Thomas, 39 Cervantes, 39 Chatelaine of La Trinite, The, 14, 33"3 6 · 47. 49· 5®· 7«. 74. 7 6 Chevalier of I'ensieri Vani, The, '9. 29 33. 34· 39. 47· 49· 56, 70, 73, 76 Chicago Evening Post, The, 59 Chicago Record Herald, The, 63 Chicago Tribune, The, 17, 20 Chopin, Kate, 40 ClifJ-Dwellers, The, 10, 38, 39-42, 73· 74. 76 Cliff-Dwellers Club, 72 "Coal from the Embers, A," 61 Crane, Stephen, 39 Crawford, Marion, 57 Crumbling Idols, 39 "Cure of Souls, The," 48 Current, The, 20 Cyrano de Bergerac, 27 Daudet, Alphonse, 39 "Dead and Alive, T h e , " 47, 49 Dickens, Charles, 17, 46 Dobson, Austin, 39

"Edmund Dalrymple," 4 "Eliza Hepburn's Deliverance," 61 "English Railways," 17

16, 14, 74,

44,

Gardens of This World, 69-70, 74, 75 Garland, Hamlin, 39, 60, 75 Gibbon, Edmund, 17 Gilbert and Sullivan, 21 Glasgow, Ellen, 74 "Greatest of These, T h e , " 51 Gunsaulus, Dr., 60 Hall, Holworthy, 67 Hardy, Thomas, 39 Harte, Bret, 17 "Harry B. Free." 6 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 17 Heroines of Fiction, 45 Herrick, Robert, 39 Hope, Anthony, 72 "House Cat, T h e , " 61 Howells, William Dean, 17, 33, 39, 45, 57. 72. 75 Huneker, James, 72 Hull House, 21

116

HENRY BLAKE FULLER

Ibsen, Hendrik, 48 " I n Such a N i g h t , " 33, 48, 49 "Italian Fiction," 50 " I n Winter Weather," 61 James, Henry, 17, 39 Johnson, Samuel, 17 Juliet's tomb, 14 Jürgen, 68 Last Refuge, The, 56-59, 70, 74, 75 Lines Long and Short, 63, 64, 74, 75 "Legacy to Posterity," 5 " L i f e T a l e of Pearl McRoy, T h e , " 62 " L i g h t T h a t Always Is, T h e , " 48, 49 Little O'Grady vs T h e Grindstone, 60 " L o n g and the Short of It, T h e , " 20 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 17 "Love of Love, T h e , " 47 Lowell, James Russell, 17, 30, 33, 72 Lytton, Lord, 17

" O , T h a t Way Madness Lies," 47 " O n the W h i r l w i n d , " 48 "Paris Intra-Mural Communication," >7 "Pasquale's Picture," 20, 50-51 "Pensieri Privati," 7 Philip de Neri, 12 "Photography," 46 Pinafore, 11 "Pilgrim Sons, T h e , " 51 "Pipistrello," s i , 24-28 Pirates of Penzance, 16 "Plea for Shorter Novels, A , " 64 Poe, Edgar Α., 17 Poetry, 63 Portrait of a Lady, The, 46 Prisoner of Zenda, The, 72 Puck, 20 Puppet Booth, The, 33, 47, 48, 74, 75 "Quartette," 62

Maggie, 39, 72 Maeterlinck, Maurice, 48 "Mariquita," 21, 22-24, 27 "Marriage Question," 6 Masters, Edgar Lee, 63 McTeague, 39, 74 Mencken, H. L „ 72 "Middle Aged Romance, A , " 20 "Minor Buildings," 46 Moore, George, 39 Morgan, Anna, 50, 73 " M u r a l Paintings," 46 My Chicago, 72 "My Early Books," 20 Nation, The, 68 National Institute of Arts and Letters, 57 "New Field for Free Verse, A , " 63 New Flag, The, 53-54, 74 New York Herald-Tribune, 68 New Republic, 68 New York Times, 68 "New W i n e , " 61 Norris, Frank, 39 Norton, Charles Eliot, 30, 33, 72 "Northern Lights," 48, 49 Not on the Screen, 69, 7 1 , 7 4 , 7 5 On the Stairs, 64-66, 74,75

Realism in Fiction, 35 " R e d Carpet, T h e , " 48, 77 Richardson, Frederick, 63 "Romance of a Middle-Aged chant," 20 "Rosamund Risks It," 61 Ruskin, John, 17

Mer-

Sanford, Mary Josephine, 2 Sanford, T h o m a s de, 2 Saturday Evening Post, The, 59 Shakespeare, William, 17 Shepherd, William Emery, 69 "Ship Comes In, T h e , " 47, 49 "Sicilian romance," 57 Sister Carrie, 39 Silas Lapham, 46 "Some Day (Revised Edition)," 20 Spoon River Anthology, 63 "Stanton Page," 30 Sterne, Laurence, 39 "Story of Naphtha, T h e , " 20 "Story Spinner, T h e , " 48, 49 "Stranger W i t h i n the Gates, T h e , " 48, 49 St. Peter's, 13 Tennyson, Lord, 17 Thackeray, W i l l i a m Makepeace, 39

INDEX

117

Verne, Jules, 17

Webster, Henry Kitchell, 67 "Westminster Abbey," 36-37 Wharton, Edith, 74 "What Youth Can Do," 5 0 , 5 * Wilder, Thornton, 69, 75 With the Procession, 10, 38, 39-40, 4245. 4 6 · 73· 74. 75· 76 "Worlds Fair Architecture," 46

Waldo Trench and Others, 5g, 60-61, 74

Zola, £mile, 39

"Transcontinental Episode, A," 19 Twain, Mark, 17 "Under the Crest of Shishaldin," 62 Under the Skylights, 59, 60, 61, 74 "Upward Movement in Chicago, T h e , " 5°